


Rogue

by Fantismal



Series: Missing an Angel [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Also angels being dicks, And as someone named Rosmerta, And some angels actually being nice, Angels, Complicated angel relationships, F/F, F/M, Female Gabriel, Gabriel as Loki, Gen, Historical, M/M, Male Gabriel, Metatron gets a cameo, Pre-Series, Pregnancy, So do the Winchesters, Witches, filling in plotholes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-07 06:13:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 37
Words: 83,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1116467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fantismal/pseuds/Fantismal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life as Heaven's #1 Most Wanted isn't easy, but Gabriel has learned to keep his head down and his wings tucked. All that changes when an old friend unexpectedly falls, and Gabriel's life is suddenly a lot more complicated.</p><p>Featuring an all-star cast with names such as Fergus MacLeod, Kali the Destroyer, and Samuel Colt!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. New Life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Daniel](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Daniel).



### New Life

_Name: John Skinner. Age: 28. Occupation: Shepherd. Crime: Lying, bullying, cheating, and general dickery. Punishment?_

Gabriel snapped his fingers, watching the shepherd through the leafy branches of a tree.

_Barometz._

A plaintive little bleat rose up from a bush on the edge of the field where shepherd Skinner kept his sheep, then another one. The shape of a young lamb could just barely be made out through the branches. Skinner was going to be scratching his head when he saw the little lamb, completely normal in every way save one: it was anchored to the ground by a root growing out of its belly.

Barometz, the vegetable-sheep. The people of Canisbay had only just heard about this phenomenon for the first time last week, when some sailors from the south told them stories about a fabric called “cotton,” which came from lamb-like plants. Gabriel had laughed himself sick the first time he’d heard humanity’s explanation for how fabric could come from plants, and he’d helped the idea along by planting barometz whenever he encountered a deceitful shepherd. The shepherd would be confused at first, but then delighted when he realized what a rarity he had on his hands. The little rooted lamb would stay exactly where it was as the shepherd ran off to find others to show it off to (perhaps for a couple coins?), but by the time he returned, he would only find a clump of wool stuck on the end of a stick jammed into the earth.

Gabriel liked helping spread rumors about the idiocy of dicks. It helped the centuries pass.

Centuries _had_ passed since Gabriel’s last divine mission. Ten of them, in fact. One thousand and thirty-five years. In the tree, Gabriel closed his eyes, indulging in a bit of remembrance. It had been one thousand and thirty-five _years_ since he’d last stood in Heaven and felt the warmth of the Host wrapped around him entirely. Since he’d walked the halls of his tower. Since he’d spoken with his brothers, with Michael, with Cariel.

Angels were not meant to be alone. Gabriel had to keep the songs of the Host locked down in the very back of his mind to keep from being tempted back among his brothers. If he let their voices bubble to the forefront, if he started picking out individuals among the Heavenly chorus, he was hit with the crippling loneliness of a solitary angel. As long as he kept them locked down, and as long as he kept himself distracted, he could keep moving forward, one day at a time.

Distraction came in a variety of forms. Loki, the pagan god who had given his life in exchange for immortality, had a fascinating family. They loved to drink and fight, most of them too thick to realize their brother had been usurped by a foreigner. Gabriel had thought he had known hedonism before, but the gods’ idea of a good party put his own prior experiences to shame. Loki himself wasn’t always the most welcome guest, as he had a reputation for troublemaking, but he wasn’t exactly shunned. It was said that a party in the Norse Pantheon never truly hit legendary status if Loki wasn’t present.

Troublemaking was another good way for Gabriel to distract himself. Loki was not as powerful as Gabriel in terms of sheer strength and endurance, but Loki’s power was _different_. Loki couldn’t swim through time or fly, but he _could_ alter reality. The first time Gabriel had snapped his fingers and summoned up a strawberry, he had genuinely felt like a god. Now, he considered strawberries child’s play. He had spent the past ten centuries practicing with Loki’s reality-bending powers, creating entire pocket realms with the snap of his fingers and controlling lifelike puppets with little more than his mind. Thanks to Loki’s magic, Gabriel could now literally be in two, three, or four places at once (though the more he fragmented himself, the harder it was to control all his different parts). More than once, he had allowed puppets of himself to be killed, infusing them with enough power and grace to be mistaken for the real deal. This was especially fun when dealing with nosy hunters. Gabriel approved of their work in general, but he disliked it when they targeted him specifically. By allowing them to kill “him,” he could reinforce their feelings of awesomeness while simultaneously surviving. Best of all worlds, he figured.

Really, though, Gabriel didn’t think he deserved to be hunted by the hunters. His worst crime remained his exodus from Heaven. Maybe he’d also admit to a little blasphemous speech. But what he did to humans as Loki shouldn’t count against him. He wasn’t hurting anyone who didn’t deserve it, after all, and he wasn’t even directly hurting those who did. All he was doing was giving them a length of rope. It was their choice to hang themselves. Like that baker in France. All he had to do was be _honest_ , and his oven would have worked just fine. If he hadn’t been pinching dough from the loaves brought to him, then they wouldn’t have burnt, and he wouldn’t have had to climb in to try to clean it.

And really, who _climbed into_ an oven that was perpetually overcooking things? Especially after beating their apprentice repeatedly for things that weren’t his fault? Gabriel hadn’t told the boy to light the oven. He hadn’t even put the idea in the boy’s mind.

No, those types of side effects weren’t his fault, so Gabriel didn’t think he deserved death sentences. Despite that, hunters still perked up whenever they realized he was in the area, and they still hounded him until he “died.”

If Gabriel was completely honest, he’d admit that maybe he did intentionally needle hunters when he knew they were near. When they were aware of his presence, they were always more fun than when they were oblivious. The challenge made it a game. Once, four hundred years ago, Gabriel had an entire family of Cambels hunting him across Europe. Gabriel had allowed that game to last for two years before he ran into a young man named Mervyn Cambel. Mervyn’s soul had glittered with all of the icy brilliance of Gabriel’s long-lost brother, Lucifer. He was a true vessel of the devil, a descendent of the bloodline of Cain, Lucifer’s first vessel. Gabriel had been so stunned to see his brother’s spirit reflected in this human that he had nearly forgotten to fake his death. If Mervyn had been in possession of a weapon capable of actually harming an Archangel, Gabriel might have died all those centuries ago. Instead, he waited for Mervyn to turn away before vanishing his “corpse,” and he had to blanket a room in anti-angel wards that made his wings crawl and itch before risking some of his grace to heal the wound.

It had been over a thousand years since Gabriel really used his grace. The most he ever allowed himself was a bit of flight, because that used his wings and not exactly _grace_. Raphael would never give up hunting him, Gabriel knew. Even though his twin had eventually returned to Heaven in defeat when Gabriel first escaped, he would have bet half his wings that Raphael had at least one entire garrison dedicated solely to checking Earth for Gabriel’s grace signature. He could pull most of it within himself and veil it from angelic eyes, but as an Archangel, Gabriel was unable to hide his grace completely. He simply had too much of it. Thankfully, Loki’s pagan magic had enough glitter and sparkle to hide the bit of grace that seeped out of Gabriel’s tight hold. A mere human would have lit up on an angel’s radar, but Loki was overlooked as someone who was supposed to be magical anyway. If Loki hadn’t agreed to let Gabriel take over his body, Gabriel wouldn’t have lasted a week before Raphael had brought the entire vengeance of an angered Archangel down on his head.

The deal with Loki had been simple enough. Loki was completely willing to surrender his life in exchange for immortality, and he defined immortality as never being forgotten. Too many pagan gods were swept away with history, their names lost, their images destroyed. Wars between the gods often killed them off as well, as larger gods like Apollo consumed smaller ones like Vindonnus. Loki had seen the tenuous grasp a god had on life and had asked Gabriel for permanence. Gabriel had promised to deliver.

It was easier to keep Loki’s name alive than to keep him worshiped. Gabriel carefully slipped through history, making little tweaks and revisions here and there, erasing most of the facts about the god. This had felt contradictory at first, but Gabriel had discovered through long observation that humans loved nothing more than a mystery. If they had known exactly what Loki was the god _of_ , they would have labeled him and stuck him on a shelf. Without that knowledge, scholars kept debating Loki’s role in the Norse pantheon. Loki was easily the most talked about minor god in existence today. It helped that new “lost” texts had recently surfaced, drawing new scholars and new discussions.

Discussion didn’t lead to worship. Gabriel’s attempts to keep Loki’s fanbase strong were thwarted at every opportunity by the Christian church, of all organizations. The little group of loyal followers that Jesus had preached to all those years ago had exploded into a massive religion that was stretching its reach around the world. Gabriel heard prayers sent to him, Saint Gabriel, patron saint of messengers, even as he cursed the Church for discouraging pagan worship.

He never answered the prayers. He didn’t know how many other angels could hear the words whispered into his mind by thousands of humans every day. Some of them broke his heart, pleas for aid and mercy and knowledge, but Gabriel never dared to go anywhere he would be expected. He couldn’t make things easy for Raphael, after all. He couldn’t risk it.

Despite his fear of being found by one of his brothers, Gabriel did sometimes fantasize about it. He wouldn’t ever want Raphael to find him, but there were a handful of brothers whose absence in his life ached more than the others. 

He missed Michael, his beloved oldest brother. Would Michael try to smite Gabriel, or would he welcome Gabriel back with open arms? Michael had once promised that he would still love Gabriel even if he left, but Gabriel wasn’t sure if Michael remembered his words. So much had happened since then. They had both lost so much.

He missed Castiel, the little Angel Gabriel had taken under his wing millions of years ago. Castiel would accept Gabriel’s return without attempting to carry out the death sentence Heaven had undoubtedly placed upon his head. Castiel had always looked so trustingly toward Gabriel, and Gabriel had once promised Castiel could always turn to him for help. Could he still uphold that promise? If Castiel came to him now and asked for his help, could Gabriel give it?

He missed Barachiel, the Seraph who shaped the Earth. Barachiel laughed and smiled and didn’t wish harm upon _anyone_. He and his garrisons only concerned themselves with the shaping of the world and the care for the physical aspect of it. Barachiel cried for every human who perished when his angels were forced to trigger a volcano or hurricane. He would never raise his sword against Gabriel.

He missed Cariel, his second-in-command. Raphael had made Gabriel doubt Cariel’s loyalty at the end, but Gabriel still considered Cariel his best friend in Heaven. Cariel had done everything for Gabriel, had _been_ everything. He had been Gabriel’s confidant and supporter, had organized his choir and been his secretary. Cariel had always stood at Gabriel’s right hand, listening, laughing, and loving him.

Cariel had loved him.

Gabriel curled his fingers around the branch of the tree he rested in, squeezing the green wood tightly. Cariel had _loved_ Gabriel, and Gabriel, like the fool he played now, had ignored it. Gabriel had let thousands of years pass pretending Cariel only adored him like a brother. Thousands of wasted years, because as long as Gabriel was being privately honest, he had to admit that he had loved Cariel too. Even with all of Raphael’s scheming (and it _had_ to have been scheming by Raphael, Cariel simply _would not_ have betrayed Gabriel like that), Gabriel still loved his lieutenant.

In Gabriel’s long life, there were many things he regretted, many things he wished he could take back or undo. Never confessing his own love to Cariel was only just beneath helping Lucifer create Hell on his list of regrets.

It was too late now. Gabriel had left Cariel in Heaven, their relationship shredded by years of suspicion. Raphael had known of secrets shared only between Gabriel and his second, secrets he should only have been able to learn from Cariel. At the time, Gabriel hadn’t found any explanation other than that Cariel had been reporting to Raphael. He had fought his suspicions, but they kept rearing up whenever his lieutenant was near. Gabriel had withdrawn from even his second in the years before he left, and Cariel had not tried to pull him back. Cariel had not tried to follow him to Earth either. Gabriel had chased after the first dozen or so angels who had fallen after he did, but none of them had been Cariel. Gabriel had eventually given up. He had squandered his chances with Cariel, and Cariel had been too upset (Hurt? Disgusted? Confused?) by him to give him another. It didn’t matter that Gabriel had finally allowed himself to believe that Raphael had simply found another way and Cariel had always been innocent. A great yawning gap of space and empty planes stood between them now, and Gabriel could not cross it.

“It’s been a thousand years,” Gabriel muttered to himself, opening his eyes and glaring at a leaf that had the misfortune of being in front of him. “Cariel’s gone. _Let it go._ ”

“If you let go, you’re gonna fall!”

Gabriel almost _did_ fall out of the tree at the sound of the childish voice below him. He had to catch himself with his wings, making all the branches around him rustle and shake. The freckled boy on the ground looked up at him from beneath a mop of dark red hair that had probably never been brushed in his life, and he giggled, his mouth stretching wide around a gap-toothed grin. “I didna know growned-ups climbed trees like that too!”

“Who said I climbed?” Gabriel asked, folding his wings and sitting up straighter, squeezing his legs around the branch to keep himself from another awkward near-tumble. “Maybe I flew.”

The boy laughed again, shaking his head. “Nah, growned-ups can’t fly! Unless they’re demons. Are you a demon? Is that how you flew?”

“Not a demon.” Gabriel pushed himself sideways, flipping out of the tree and stretching his wings out to land lightly on his feet in front of the child. “But sort of close, I guess.” He leaned down, touching a finger to his lips to indicate secrecy. “I’m a _god_.”

The child reacted appropriately, his dark grey eyes going round and wide, delight and awe both warring across his freckled face. “ _Wooooooow_! A real live god? Like Manannán?”

“Very much like Manannán, actually.” Manannán was a god of the sea around here, and a trickster in his own right. Gabriel had met him a couple times. Aside from Manannán’s affinity for water, he was a pretty fun god to hang out with. “My name is Loki. What’s your name?”

“I’m Fergus!” The boy stepped back and looked Gabriel up and down. “I’ve heard about Loki! Mam and Uncle Brody have talked about you before! They say you’re an old god, and you left these lands long ago to go back home!”

“Your mam and uncle talk about the gods like we’re real?” Gabriel was surprised at that. Most people these days, especially in the Christian Scotland, made a very clear delineation between the one true God and all of the old fairy stories of the pagans. The Church did not like people who believed in the pagans.

“You _are_ real,” Fergus pointed out, folding his slightly-chubby arms. “ _Duh_. You’re just as real as demons.”

“Demons again, huh?” Gabriel raised an eyebrow before folding his own arms, adopting Fergus’ posture. “What do you know about demons?”

“Demons are _powerful_. And smelly. They stink like eggs gone bad. But they’re really strong, and they can do magic, and Mam and Uncle Brody can do magic too. I’m going to be a demon when I grow up.”

Magic. Just as Gabriel had feared. This boy was the son of a witch. From the sounds of it, witchcraft ran in his family. He probably was already promised to a demon as a future witch himself. “You know,” he started, blinking so he could see the boy’s soul and check for demonic taint already, “demons aren’t very ni… ce.”

The boy _glowed_. His soul shone out from his body in a massive corona of power, brilliant and unblemished. This wasn’t a standard human soul. This was the soul of a fallen angel.

Gabriel swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat, his fingers itching to reach out for the boy. He was more than just _a_ fallen angel. He was _the_ fallen angel, the angel whose fall Gabriel had hoped and wished and almost prayed for over these past thousand years.

Cariel.

He had fallen.

He was a human.

He was _here_.


	2. The Children of Canisbay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fergus wants to see a barometz, but he’s not the only curious child in town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates will be coming every M/W/F for the next couple of months. Now that this story is caught up to itself in the other locations I've been posting it, you're all on the same posting schedule.

### The Children of Canisbay

“But they’re powerful.”

Fergus’ voice restarted Gabriel’s mind, but the angel’s thoughts still skipped and stuttered over the fact that Cariel, his lieutenant, had been reborn into this small child. “Excuse me?” Gabriel managed to say weakly, the thread of conversation already lost.

“Demons.” Fergus rocked forward onto his toes and then back onto his heels, reaching up to shove his hair out of his face. “They’re _powerful_. Demons can do _everything_ , and they live forever. That’s why I wanna be a demon.”

Right. Demons. Gabriel was already recovering his conversational balance. He shook his head at Fergus, trying to remember that this boy, for all his angelic soul, was still just a human child all of five or six years old. He was hardly old enough to care about logic. “But they’re mean, and they eat babies.”

“Mam says that’s just old wives tales. Mam says demons don’t really eat babies. Mam says demons are our friends, especially Mistress.”

“Mistress?”

“She’s Mam’s demon. Only I’m not apposed to talk about her. Only not with humans. And you’re not human. So I can talk about her with you.” Fergus stepped forward, shaking a finger up at Gabriel. “You’d better not talk about Mistress to humans!”

Gabriel had to grin, drawing an X over his chest with one finger. “Cross my heart and hope to die. I promise I won’t talk about Mistress with humans.”

“Good.” Fergus nodded, satisfied with that answer. “Mam says if you get a demon to make an oath, they have to keep it, and they can’t lie to you. Can you lie?”

“I can lie,” Gabriel said, still grinning at the child. “I’m not a demon. But I’m not lying to you. You can trust me.”

Fergus squinted skeptically at Gabriel, his eyes scrunched narrowly along with the rest of his face. This made his lower lip stick out comically, but Gabriel heroically resisted the urge to laugh.

“Maybe,” Fergus finally declared, and that was good enough for the boy. “Hey. Hey. You know what I heard?”

“What did you hear?”

“Farmer Skinner found a _barometz_!” Fergus grinned up at Gabriel, all his skepticism gone. “Mam said barometz are only way far away, but this one was _right here_! I’m gonna go see it! Wanna come?”

Nothing flew faster than the gossip of children. Gabriel swore a rumor could outpace an angel. The barometz he had created was already gone, replaced with a tuft of wool, but Fergus was running past Gabriel to climb the rough stone wall surrounding Skinner’s field. Gabriel turned to follow, though he had to pause to give Fergus enough of a boost on his bottom to heave him over the top of the stones. Fergus giggled from the other side, clapping his hands as Gabriel easily hopped onto the wall and jumped off on the other side. “C’mon, c’mon, it’s around here somewhere!”

Gabriel chased Fergus over the field, pulling the boy’s soul back into focus. Cariel’s spirit, muted and thinned into a human soul, was still so brilliant and loved. Gabriel’s grace ached to wrap around it again, to fold himself into the familiarity of his favorite brother. He could almost pretend, almost, that Fergus was just a vessel for Cariel, and that the two of them were racing each other over the ancient fields of Earth, back before humans, before Lucifer’s fall, before Heaven rotted into despair. He caught Fergus up in his arms, swinging him around, and Fergus squealed in laughter.

“No fair!”

“I’m a god!” Gabriel declared, spinning around one last time before depositing the dizzy boy safely on the ground. “I don’t have to play fair!”

Fergus giggled and took a step, promptly swaying sideways and falling on his butt. He continued to laugh, his whole soul sparkling. “That was fun! Hey! I think I see it!” Fergus pointed and rolled over, crawling on hands and knees to a nearby bush. “Shh, we don’t want to scare it!” He pressed his finger to his lips before leaning forward and carefully pulling the branches aside.

“Fergus, I…” Gabriel took a step closer to Fergus, wondering if it wasn’t too late to snap his fingers and change the wool back into a genuine barometz.

“It’s not here.” Fergus’ disappointment weighed heavily in every word. The boy sat back on his calves, pouting up at Gabriel. “It’s just a bunch of wool on a stick. It’s not a _real_ barometz.”

“Did you find it?”

“Is it there?”

“Move it!”

A pack of bare-footed children came running across the field, descending on Fergus and Gabriel. The angel stepped aside easily, but the children shoved Fergus out of the way, delving into the bush themselves.

“Is that it?”

“That’s not a barometz.”

“It’s _gone_!”

The biggest boy in the group, standing a full head over the others, with the crooked nose of a child who’d already broken it several times, turned on Fergus with his hands clenched into fists. “You broke it!”

“I didn’t!” Fergus protested, scrambling back on his hands and feet and bumping into Gabriel’s legs. “It was never there!”

“You magicked it away!” The bigger boy pointed accusingly at Fergus, and then up at Gabriel. “He’s your demon pet, and you made him magic it away!”

“He’s not a demon, he’s a _god_ ,” Fergus snapped back, jumping back to his feet and curling his own hands into fists. “And we didn’t do nothing to it!”

“Gaaaavin…” A pretty blonde girl grabbed the larger boy’s arm, tugging at it. “Gavin, c’mon. It’s not here. Let’s go back.”

“Not until I make the little twerp tell us what he did to it!”

The blonde girl stamped her foot and tugged on Gavin’s arm again. “He’s just Fergy the Freak, Gav, and there’s a growned-up here.” She frowned suspiciously up at Gabriel, who tried to smile as innocently as he could manage. “C’mon. Maybe he really _is_ a demon, and he’ll curse us.”

“Is that how you talk to grown-ups you don’t know?” Gabriel asked, cocking his head to the side. “You’re awfully rude children.” The big boy was definitely the village bully, someone for Gabriel to watch, but the little blonde was going to grow up to be a troublemaker herself. Gabriel could already see a heartbreaking beauty developing in her young face, and he could tell by the way she tossed her long hair that she knew it too.

“You’re rude!” Fergus echoed from about three feet lower down. “And he’s _not_ a demon, but he’s a god, and gods smite people!”

“Gods don’t _exist_ , freak!” Gavin shouted back at Fergus. “He’s just a crazy guy!”

“Gaaaaaaaviiiiin!”

One more tug from the blonde, and Gavin turned away from Fergus, stomping off down the field. The pack of children followed their leader, sticking out their tongues and pulling faces at Fergus as they left. Gabriel stayed where he was, watching as Fergus deflated, his little shoulders slumping after the other children had left. “I hate them.”

Gabriel dropped down to one knee, reaching out to put his hand on Fergus’ shoulder. “Kids suck. I should know. I have six.” Technically, they were all Loki’s children, but so far, Gabriel had them all convinced that he was still their father. He considered them his children by adoption and did try to look after them (at least the ones still alive). They were also all fully grown, but their petty dramas and in-fighting reminded him of nothing more than his brothers at the end of his time in Heaven.

Fergus scrubbed his arm under his nose and dug his toes into the ground. “They don’t like me.”

“Then they’re fools,” Gabriel declared, sliding his hand down to Fergus’ arm and pulling him closer for a hug. “ _I_ like you. I can already tell that you’re better than all of them together.”

“Really?” Fergus looked skeptically over at Gabriel, his eyes suspiciously wet, but no tears had fallen.

“Really really,” Gabriel answered, ruffling Fergus’ hair. “I want to be your friend. May I?”

Fergus’ face broke into a huge grin, and he nodded enthusiastically at Gabriel. “Yes! I’ve never had a friend before! Can we be _best_ friends? That would be awesome! I’ve never been friends with a _god_ before! Even Mam and Uncle Brody aren’t friends with gods! I can show you all my favorite places, and you can show me all of yours, and how you flewed into the tree, and maybe you can teach me how to fly too? And we can go on ventures and _yes_! I wanna be your friend!”

Gabriel laughed and picked Fergus up, settling the boy on his shoulders. “Then we’re friends, and we’re the best friends, better than Gavin or any of those stupid people.”

“Yeah!” Fergus drummed his feet against Gabriel’s chest and twisted around to thumb his nose in the direction Gavin and his posse had gone. “Better than all those stupidheads!”

Gabriel laughed, curling his hands lightly around Fergus’ shins to hold him steady. This close to what was left of Cariel’s spirit, Gabriel’s grace thrummed happily around him for the first time in centuries. Fergus wasn’t an angel, but Gabriel’s grace didn’t care. He was a friend, and he was _here_ , and Gabriel was no longer alone. “Where do you want to go first?”


	3. Thorn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel’s getting ready to move on, and Fergus finds a new friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprisingly, there are birth and marriage records for Canisbay in the early 1660s available online... however, the births for the year Fergus was born are absent! Coincidence, or the hand of a demon?
> 
> Regardless, the MacLeods, Gavin, and the minister's daughter are fictional characters. All other residents of Canisbay named in this story were really living there at this time.

### Thorn

Canisbay could have been the edge of the world, for all its isolation. Stuck far out on the most north-eastern tip of Scotland, the next nearest village was over sixteen miles away. The land plunged dramatically into the sea, with huge, jagged cliff faces claiming the lives of several sheep and at least one child a year. Winds whipped over the flat moors from the North Sea (which actually lay to their south), drumming up dramatic weather with icy storms and horizontal rain.

This was the land Fergus grew up in, racing across the grassy moors and climbing over the cliffs as fearlessly as any goat. Gabriel was always close behind, ready to catch the child if he fell. His wings were constantly arced around Fergus, sheltering and protecting the fragile human body that housed a fallen angel.

With a little magical help from Gabriel, the land around Canisbay morphed into a wonderland for Fergus. The moors became sites of huge battles, with hordes of raging barbarians charging toward the lone defenders. Sticks turned into swords and brooms into child-sized horses. Everything Fergus could imagine, Gabriel would make real. It no longer mattered that the other Canisbay children scorned Fergus for his mother’s witchcraft and his own obvious illegitimacy. Gabriel made sure he was never lonely.

Winter stole Fergus away from his adventures with Gabriel, as snowstorms covered the land in many feet of snow. Like most of the children of Canisbay, Fergus retreated indoors during the coldest months of the year, huddled in the one room schoolhouse and learning his letters. Gabriel crouched beside the boy, invisible, one warm wing a constant living blanket as his classmates fought for the best positions near the classroom’s stove. “Fergy the Freak” was never invited to join them, but he also never asked. Glowering at the other kids from his corner, Fergus devoted himself to his lessons and was regularly the best student in his class, beating even the older children.

It helped that Fergus’ mother encouraged the boy at home. Issobell MacLeod was a feisty redhead with more freckles than feminine mannerisms. Gabriel had been shocked to recognize himself in her when they first met—Issobell was one of _his_ vessels, a direct descendant of Vindonnus. He had stopped paying attention to his bloodline when he left Heaven, always afraid that Raphael was watching for him. Somehow, Cariel had managed to direct his fall into Gabriel’s bloodline. Perhaps he had hoped Gabriel would be able to find him like this.

Issobell did not put much faith in angels, or in God, though she attended church regularly, as did every other citizen of Canisbay. She had never seen an angel, she had informed Gabriel, but she had seen plenty of demons, skinwalkers, werefolk, faeries, and ghosts to know that the supernatural world existed. While Fergus learned his letters and numbers at school, he learned Latin chants and ancient magic at home, sounding out words from a black grimoire almost as big as he was, his finger skidding along the page beneath the black letter text.

Brody, Issobell’s older brother, was much more willing to believe angels existed. _If the bad is real, why not the good?_ He was the one who welcomed the god Loki into their shared cottage, past the protective wards that decorated the door and all the windows, and into their lives. Gabriel spent much of his winters seated on the floor by the MacLeod’s fire, with Fergus leaning against his side and asking for help with the occasional difficult word between stolen sips of his uncle’s whisky.

Gabriel told himself that every month he spent with the MacLeods would be his last. He never stayed in one place for long. Two years was his absolute record. The longer he stayed still, the more his grace seeped out, staining the area around him and reflecting his presence back to Raphael in Heaven. If he stayed, he risked calling down the angels.

Two years after meeting Fergus, Gabriel promised himself that he would leave. Tomorrow.

Four years after meeting Fergus, Gabriel promised himself that he really would leave tomorrow.

Six years after meeting Fergus, Gabriel swore that this time, tomorrow would be the day he left.

Fergus lay on his back at the edge of a cliff, legs dangling over the side, staring up at the blue sky above them. He was chewing on the end of a piece of heather, his fingers lightly brushing against Gabriel’s as his head was unknowingly pillowed on one of Gabriel’s extended wings. The angel was lying beside him, all of his invisible wings spread to bask in the summer sun. He felt at peace here, warm and loved in the presence of Fergus’ bright soul. Cariel’s spirit still shone too strongly in Fergus’ to be corrupted by the witchcraft his family practiced, even with the winter lessons. A few shadows were starting to creep in, but for a boy of eleven, Fergus was still remarkably _good_.

“Mam says I need to start working.”

“Hmm?” Gabriel cracked his eyes open, turning his head to the side to look over at Fergus. The boy had one arm tucked beneath his head, and he was rolling the heather from one side of his mouth to the other.

“Working. Mam says I need to. She says I’m too big to play pretend with gods anymore.”

“Technically, it’s not really pretend,” Gabriel pointed out. “I make it very real.”

Fergus grinned, the heather clamped between his teeth. “Yeah you do. You’re pretty awesome.”

“I’m a god. Awesome is in the job description.” Gabriel rolled onto his side and propped his head up in one hand, watching Fergus. “She does have a point, though. You’re going to need a job when you’re an adult.”

Most of the children of Canisbay helped their parents during the summer with farming or fishing. Just about everyone turned out to bring in the harvest in the fall, and to help with planting in the summer. Issobell and her son rarely participated. The whole village knew she was a witch, and they did not want her anywhere near their food supplies (though that confused Gabriel, as the witch still needed to eat like all the rest of them, so logically, she would put _blessings_ on the farms, not curses). She was allowed to come by when they needed medical attention or during calving season, because the village had no doctor and no one could deliver a baby like Issobell MacLeod, but on the whole, she was denied access to Canisbay “polite society.” As her son, Fergus was similarly scorned. The children were the most outspoken in their rejection of Fergus, but even the adults would cross themselves and step aside when they saw him coming.

Brody MacLeod was better accepted, because surely a _man_ couldn’t be a witch. He was a tailor, and most of the town went to him for their clothing needs. No bride dreamed of getting married without a dress made by MacLeod, and no baby got baptized without one of his christening gowns. People ignored his relation to the town witch at worst, or at best, declared him a good man for keeping Issobell fed and sheltered. Gabriel knew his good name was just a farce. Brody MacLeod was the originator of witchcraft in Canisbay. He had gone to Edinburgh for an education and came back with a demon mistress he refused to name. Issobell had followed her big brother eagerly into witchcraft, but Brody was definitely the darker of the two, his soul eroded and pitted. Issobell _maybe_ could house Gabriel if he asked, but Brody was too far gone to hold the purity of an angel’s spirit within him, even a rogue angel like Gabriel.

“That wasn’t what you were supposed to say,” Fergus grumbled, squeezing his eyes shut before flinging his arm over them.

“What was I supposed to say?” Gabriel plucked Fergus’ arm off his face, smiling down at those familiar dark eyes. Fergus didn’t remember his life in Heaven, but something in his soul had responded to Gabriel from the day they first met. Gabriel loved watching Fergus’ soul slosh toward him whenever their eyes met. It almost felt like Cariel standing at his side all over again.

“You were supposed to say that I _didn’t_ need a job, that you’d take care of everything. You’re a _god_ , and I’m your favorite. I shouldn’t have to work.”

“What, make you my kept woman?” Gabriel laughed, trailing his fingers down Fergus’ arm and leaning closer to the boy. “Like Katharine is for Hutchson Bowar?”

“Shut up! Not like that!” Fergus jerked away from Gabriel, sitting up abruptly and turning his back on the angel. He frowned over his shoulder, his lower lip protruding in an all-too-familiar pout. “Not like _lovers_. I’m a _man_ -”

“Boy,” Gabriel coughed into his hand, earning him another scowl and a shove from Fergus. He shoved back with only a fraction of his strength, and Fergus tackled him. The two tussled in the warm grass, rolling over and over, with Gabriel using his wings to push them away from the edge of the cliff.

“Man!” Fergus insisted, pinning Gabriel beneath his knees, holding the angel’s wrists against the field. They were both laughing, and they both knew that Gabriel could shove Fergus off easily if he wanted. Still, Gabriel let Fergus have his victory.

“Right, you’re right, you’re a man! Almost! Practically!”

“I’m going to be twelve in two months,” Fergus pointed out, sitting over the angel. “Maybe I should start thinking of a wife.”

“You have plenty of time,” Gabriel assured him, tamping down on a curl of jealousy within his spirit. He hated the thought of anyone else staking a claim on Fergus’ time or heart. “Don’t grow up _too_ fast, Fergus.”

Fergus _was_ growing up. The chubby-cheeked child who had found Gabriel in the tree all those years ago had lengthened and thinned into a boy on the cusp of manhood. With Gabriel’s help, he would very likely live into his seventies or eighties, unhampered by disease or hardship. Though a long life for a human, it would be barely the blink of an eye for an angel. When Fergus died, he would _die_. His soul would be taken up to Heaven, and Gabriel would be unable to see him again.

 _Is this punishment?_ Gabriel wondered, watching the boy above him. _Is this Raphael trying to tempt me back into reach?_ Had his brothers forced Cariel to fall so Gabriel would try to follow him back home?

It wouldn’t work. Gabriel was already making plans to extract himself from Fergus’ life. He’d leave tomorrow and return only for visits, frequent but short. He had lived without Cariel for a thousand years. He could do it again. This was a gift, a chance to mend his broken relationship with his lieutenant before losing him forever, and Gabriel would not look at it in any other light.

“Gavin’s thinking of a wife,” Fergus said. “Gavin wants to ask… listen!” The boy looked away from Gabriel, his head cocked to the side as he focused on a soft whimpering. “Do you hear that?”

“Sounds like an animal.” Gabriel eased his wrists out from Fergus’ hold and sat up, looping his arms loosely around the boy to keep him from falling over. “Young one. Over that way.” He nodded off to his right.

Fergus scrambled off Gabriel’s lap and loped off through the field, scanning the ground for what could be making the pathetic little noises. Gabriel followed more slowly, watching Fergus. The sounds were coming from a puppy caught in some thistles, but he didn’t tell Fergus that. He’d let the boy find it on his own.

“Loki, come see!” Fergus came upon the puppy and dropped to his knees. “It’s a dog! He’s stuck—ouch!” Fergus had tried to pull the thistles apart and gotten a spine in his finger as a reward. He scowled at the plant, sucking on the spot of blood that welled up on his skin. “He’s stuck, Loki.”

“Probably was too adventurous for his own good.” Gabriel crouched down beside Fergus, looking at the puppy. He was a skinny mongrel with floppy ears and dirty white fur with a few black patches here and there. The thistles had ensnared him thoroughly, and the poor little pup was stabbed and scratched by the sharp plant. “Here, stop that. You’ll only hurt yourself again.” Gabriel batted Fergus’ hands away as Fergus reached for the thistles to free the puppy again.

“We can’t just let him stay trapped!”

“ _God_ ,” Gabriel reminded Fergus with a gesture toward himself. “Watch and be amazed.”

The thistles couldn’t cut Gabriel’s skin if he didn’t want them to. A bit of grace hardened around his hands was more effective than leather gloves, and he was easily able to reach into the heart of the plant, pulling apart the thorny branches. The puppy whined and squirmed, and Fergus reached in to the opening to hold him steady as Gabriel gently extracted the spines from his fur and flesh.

Eventually, Fergus was able to lift the puppy free. He sat down, cradling the pitiful creature in his lap. Gabriel let the thistle spring back into shape and sat beside Fergus, watching them both. “He’s hurt, Loki. Can you heal him?”

Technically, the answer was yes. Healing the puppy wouldn’t take more than a snap of Gabriel’s fingers and a dollop of his grace. But Gabriel had already spent six years at Fergus’ side, his grace soaking into this land and infusing it with his signature. He glanced around, as if an angel could drop out of the sky on top of him just by thinking about it. Even the small burst of grace that healing the puppy would require could be enough to light up the entire tip of Scotland bright enough to catch Raphael’s eye. “I can keep him from getting infected,” Gabriel conceded, reaching out to stroke his hand over the puppy’s mangy fur. He could burn away impurities with his touch, as long as he kept his grace on his person. That was the best he could offer.

“I’m going to keep him,” Fergus declared. “I’ve always wanted a dog.”

“Your mother is going to throw a fit,” Gabriel pointed out. “Her cats won’t be happy.”

“Doesn’t matter. Cats are stupid.” Fergus rubbed the puppy’s ears and smiled. “He needs a name. Don’t you have a son who’s a wolf?”

“Fenrir?” Gabriel laughed, shaking his head. “That mutt’s no Fenrir!” The puppy wasn’t going to be very big, and Gabriel could already tell he had strong terrier lines in him. Fenrir would be more insulted than honored at a mongrel rabbit-hunter being named after him.

“I guess not...” Fergus picked up the puppy carefully and held him in front of his face, frowning. “What about a different god? Which one is runty? Thor?”

“Thor?” The god of thunder did not care for Loki one bit, and Gabriel loved needling him. He tended to roar and throw his hammer around when he was upset. It was always good for a laugh. Thor could hardly be defined as ‘runty,’ but Gabriel could already imagine the Norse god’s face when he found out. “Definitely much more of a Thor than a Fenrir, but if he hears about it, he might try to hit _you_ with his hammer!”

“What about _Thorn_?” Fergus suggested, turning to Gabriel with a grin. “Because we found him in the thorns! You and I can know the truth, but Thor’s too stupid to realize, right?”

“Right,” Gabriel agreed, grinning back at Fergus. He touched two fingers to the puppy’s forehead, adopting a solemn expression. “Puppy, I dub thee _Thorn_ , not-god of thunder. Rest with us, heal with us, and grow strong in our family. Protect us, guard us, and serve us, and we will always have a home for you.”

The puppy tipped his head back and licked at Gabriel’s fingers with his pink tongue, tail wagging. Fergus grinned, leaning over against Gabriel’s side. Gabriel sighed to himself. He _couldn’t_ leave now. The puppy needed him to stay near until it healed. He wouldn’t leave Fergus tomorrow. He’d leave when Thorn was definitely all better. Probably a couple months from now. Maybe another year. But not tomorrow. Not yet.


	4. Brody the Brave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brody doesn’t think he likes the “god” hanging around his nephew, and attempts to put Gabriel in his place. “Attempts.”

### Brody the Brave

Gabriel landed lightly outside the little stone cottage the MacLeods called home, shaking out his wings before folding them back inside his vessel and pushing the door open. Fergus was fifteen years old now, an apprentice to his uncle Brody, and he no longer had time to play games with Gabriel in the wild moors around Canisbay. While Gabriel mourned the loss of Fergus’ undivided attention, Fergus’ busier schedule did allow Gabriel chances for some real flights. Gabriel’s need to _move_ didn’t die when he met Fergus. As much as he loved the boy, his reborn Cariel, Gabriel’s wings had itched to fly. Now, with Fergus otherwise occupied, Gabriel didn’t feel so guilty about taking to the sky. The angel left Fergus’ side for days at a time, spreading his wings and soaring around the world. Even with his wanderlust creeping through his grace, Gabriel always returned within a week. Fergus was still a young man, but Gabriel was all too aware of his mortality. One day, Fergus was going to die. Gabriel wanted to spend as much of his lifetime with him as he could.

The angel had long ago given up on trying to convince himself that he would leave Fergus’ side for good. Two years had turned into ten in the blink of an eye, and Gabriel was as much of a fixture in Canisbay as Brody these days. Fergus’ initial introduction of him as a god to the children who had not been his friends had been completely ignored. Gabriel was now Luke MacLeod to the villagers, a rather simple-minded relative of Brody’s and Issobell’s who had chosen to leave his home and stay with distant cousins due to some “indelicate indiscretions” back home. The villagers nudged each other’s ribs and nodded knowingly, but they had accepted “Luke” as a fairly harmless addition to their land. He kept the witch-boy out of trouble, picked up some odd-jobs around the village, and never once failed to attend church, though he did have a tendency to grin like a loon through most of it.

Gabriel couldn’t help it. Humans had gotten so much _wrong_!

“Welcome back.” Brody glanced up from his work, sitting by the cottage’s one window. As soon as he had seen who it was, his attention returned to the hose he was working on.

“It’s good to be back,” Gabriel answered, peering over Brody’s shoulder at his work. The hose was fine silk, not something the tailor often used. “Sir William hired you again?”

“His son, George, is headed off to Edinburgh at the end of the month and needed a new wardrobe, so as not to be seen as a country bumpkin,” Brody answered, lifting a hand to wave Gabriel out of the light.

“And you just happened to have fine silk on hand?”

Brody glanced up to give Gabriel a sly smile. “When I am in need, Mistress provides.”

Gabriel sighed. The ever-elusive “Mistress.” He had not seen hide nor hair of the demoness who had claimed his vessels as her witches, and neither Issobell nor Brody had offered a name for her. Even Fergus couldn’t help; he hadn’t learned her name yet either. Brody had been talking about inducting Fergus into their rituals, but Gabriel had always stood opposed to that idea. It was bad enough that Brody and Issobell called on demons for their own selfish pleasures. Gabriel saw no reason to bring the boy into it. So far, Fergus had managed to avoid the direct taint of witchcraft, though his soul, brilliant as it was, was collecting the standard tarnish of a boy discovering himself. It wasn’t enough to keep him out of Heaven though, so Gabriel wasn’t worried.

Thinking of Fergus, Gabriel looked around the small cottage curiously. Brody was the only one home. He opened his mouth, about to ask, but Brody answered the question before he could voice it.

“Fergus went to the village. The reverend had a fall, and that pretty daughter of his came running up here for help.” Brody’s sharp eyes were watching Gabriel for a reaction. Gabriel didn’t give him one. “You know Fergus always falls over himself around Gabrielle Innes.”

Gabriel _did_ know. The reverend’s daughter, Gabrielle Innes ( _She’s named after an **angel** , Loki, isn’t that amazing?_), was easily the prettiest girl in the village. With long blonde hair, a perky body, and a smile that showed no missing teeth, all Gabrielle had to do was toss her head or bat her eyes to get the local boys falling to her feet ( _She’s even prettier than angels, Loki, don’t you think?_ ). Gavin Stout, oldest son of family of fishermen, would bring her the freshest fish from his catches. William Wright, apprentice to the village carpenter, often carved her wooden trinkets or did repairs around her home. Huchon Johnson, whose parents were the village bakers, always had a little cake or loaf just for her.

Fergus, bastard son of the witch and apprentice to the tailor, had no gifts of his own that he could present to Gabrielle. He would beg Gabriel to bring him back sweets or flowers for the girl whenever Gabriel went on a flight. Gabriel hadn’t wanted to encourage a relationship, but he couldn’t deny Fergus’ pleading face anything.

Not that Gabrielle was grateful. The pretty girl had grown into a spoiled woman, toying with her string of suitors, flirting with all the boys and offering them nothing concrete. Far too often, Fergus would present Gabrielle with an exotic gift from China, India, or Egypt and receive nothing more than a disdainful sniff in return.

Gabriel wanted to teach the girl a lesson or two in gratitude and humility. She was the prettiest girl in the village, but she couldn’t hold a candle to the beauties of the wider world. She ought to be grateful for the blessings she already had and stop stringing along the village boys. She needed to pick one and settle down… and preferably not with Fergus!

“Do you think he’ll be back soon?” Gabriel asked, looking out the open door. Should he stay here and wait, or was it worth going to the village to watch Fergus fawn over a girl who saw him only as a supplier of material goods?

Brody barked a short laugh, shaking his head. “Is he ever back ‘soon’ from that girl? Fool boy left just about an hour ago. He won’t be back before dusk unless someone goes to fetch him.”

Gabriel sighed again and turned back to the door. “I suppose that someone will have to be me. Unless Issobell…?”

Brody shook his head. “Issobell’s up with the Mowats, helping with Margaret’s baby. She won’t be back tonight.”

That left no one else, then. Gabriel resisted the urge to roll his eyes and took a step toward the door to fetch the wayward Fergus home.

“Hold up just one minute, Loki.” Brody looked up fully from his sewing, frowning at the angel. “I’d like a word with you, while it’s just the two of us.”

“Oh?” Gabriel turned slowly to face Brody again, his wings stirring against the walls of his vessel. He scanned the man carefully for any sign of a pre-prepared spell that could actually harm an angel but saw no visible threat. “About what?”

“About what?” Brody scoffed, shaking his head. “Don’t play the fool with me, Loki. About _Fergus_. You’ve been with us for ten years, but even the blind can see you’re only here for him.”

“Your nephew is charming.” Gabriel smiled disarmingly at Brody, careful to keep his body language open and non-threatening. He had honestly been expecting Brody or Issobell to confront him for years about his interest in Fergus, but up until now, they had both just accepted his presence as if it were normal for five-year-old sons to bring gods home from their day of play. “I like charmers.”

Brody’s flat stare told Gabriel that he wasn’t buying that answer. “Don’t get me wrong, I like the perks of a live-in god, but I want to know your catch. It’s been ten years. When’s the other shoe going to drop?”

“There is no other shoe,” Gabriel insisted, shaking his head. “Fergus found me, and he caught my interest. I want to see him have the best life he can. What’s so bad about that?”

“You’re a Trickster. You’re never interested in humans for their own good.”

“Why does it even matter?” Gabriel asked with a shrug. “I’m not hurting anything by being here.”

“Fergus follows you around like a baby duckling, like that mongrel dog of his follows him around. He’d do anything you asked him to.”

“Why does that matter?” Gabriel asked again, folding his arms. “I’m _not_ asking him to do anything.”

“Not yet.” Brody glowered at Gabriel across the main room of the cottage. “But you’re grooming him. Setting him up to follow in your footsteps, your perfect little disciple. One worshipper’s all you gods need to stay in the big leagues, isn’t that right, Loki?”

“You think I’m trying to get Fergus to _worship_ me?” Gabriel laughed at the idea. “I don’t need _worshippers_ to stay active, Brody. I need to be remembered, and I’m doing just fine on that front with or without Fergus. You’re the one trying to groom him up to follow in your footsteps, with how much you encourage him to study those grimoires of yours.”

“The MacLeods are witches. Fergus _will_ follow in our footsteps.”

“Like hell he will.” Gabriel’s good humor was gone, and he felt his grace boiling within him as he glared at Brody. If he had any less control, he might have started to cook the human with his eyes. As it was, he was fairly certain they were luminous from his own power. “Your footsteps lead straight to damnation. You know that. Issobell knows that. You’ve both signed your souls over to your Mistress. Fergus hasn’t. Fergus is _good_ , and I intend to keep him that way.”

Brody met Gabriel’s glare with one of his own, his gaze much less powerful but no less determined. “Fergus has already been promised to our Mistress.”

“If you think-”

“His birth was _foretold_.” Brody’s needle punched through the silk with more force than was appropriate for the delicate fabric. “Before Issobell begat him, a star fell from the sky. It burned so brightly that night briefly turned into day. The whole town saw it, and they all swore it fell right over our home. Huge storms arrived the next day, with waves that tried to climb up our cliffs, and the wind was so loud we had to shout to hear each other even when inside. They lasted the entire week and destroyed our harvest. It was a rough winter.”

 _Cariel’s fall,_ Gabriel thought. That bright light had been the Seraph’s spirit, burning off the last of his grace. The storm… that wasn’t typical of an angel’s fall, but it _was_ Raphael’s signature overkill. Raphael must have followed Cariel, or at least watched him fall. Maybe he thought Cariel had found Gabriel. Maybe he had hoped Gabriel would be here. A storm that fierce in this part of the world could only be a mark of the Archangel’s presence. Gabriel fought down a fearful shiver. Raphael had been here, but he wasn’t here any longer. If he had still been watching, Gabriel would have known long ago.

“We asked Mistress what it meant. When she heard the story, she told us that Issobell had conceived a special baby, a child of great potential. We were to teach him all we knew, and she would do the rest. He would be raised up as a ruler over the demons of Hell, seated at the right hand of Lucifer himself.”

Gabriel’s grace prickled uncomfortably at those words. It sounded like “Mistress” recognized the signs of a falling angel. There was only one surviving demoness Gabriel knew of old enough to remember the origins of the Knights of Hell, the original double-fallen.

_Lilith._

Gabriel had a history with Lucifer’s first demon. He still remembered the days when she was Sorcha, his favored vessel, a _true_ vessel, and still his preferred form when he disguised himself as a woman. She would laugh when he took her flying, and she once made him crash into a mountain when she seized control of his wings. Lucifer had driven her to madness, made her slaughter her son and all the other children of her village, and she was burned to death as a witch, as the first witch in the MacLeod family. Issobell and Brody were not direct descendants of Sorcha, but she was a distant relative. Gabriel still carried a heavy guilt over all that had happened to Sorcha. He had brought her to Lucifer’s attention. He had condemned her to the unlife she now lived as a demon.

Unless Azazel, who had survived the slaughter of the Knights of Hell, had been spreading stories, Lilith was the most likely candidate for Brody’s enigmatic “Mistress.” If she knew Fergus was a fallen angel… shit, if _Azazel_ realized which angel he was…

Gabriel had to keep Fergus out of Hell. Better Cariel’s spirit find eternal peace as a soul in Heaven, forever separated from Gabriel, than he go to Hell to burn on Azazel’s rack. Cariel had been instrumental in destroying Azazel’s own grace. Azazel would not easily welcome him as a brother should.

“Fergus has already been chosen by our Mistress,” Brody was saying. “He cannot be yours.”

“Have you ever heard of ‘free will?’” Gabriel asked, fighting the urge to smite Brody here and now and be done with this whole farce. Fergus loved his uncle. He wouldn’t understand Gabriel’s attempt to protect him. “Fergus will only rule in Hell if _he_ chooses it. If he chooses to follow me, there isn’t a damn thing your ‘Mistress’ can do about it.”

“Our Mistress is powerful, more powerful than you realize-”

Gabriel spread his wings wide, letting their giant shadows fill the small cottage, too numerous to be recognized as the limbs of an angel. He stepped toward Brody, _looming_ in a way he hadn’t since he’d left Heaven. His grace swelled within him, roaring like a massive furnace, superheating the air until it shimmered around his body. “If she _dares_ , if _you_ dare to force Fergus onto a path of damnation, I will make you _wish_ for the mercy of Hell!” 

His hand twitched at his side, the heavy weight of his sword begging to be summoned up. He didn’t call for it. Brody was going to tell Lilith everything Gabriel did, of that the angel was sure. Gabriel might be able to hide his individual wings in a mass of shadow, but Lilith would surely recognize the description of an angelic sword. She’d recognized Gabriel by his blade once before. He couldn’t risk her doing it again. “Don’t test me, Brody MacLeod.”

Brody had tried to keep his ground as Gabriel stalked toward him, but the man’s courage had broken beneath the Archangel’s contained wrath. He shrunk back into his chair, his eyes huge and fearful. Gabriel loomed over him for a moment more, impressing his inhumanity onto the man, before he forced his grace down, withdrew his wings and became the harmless Luke MacLeod once again.

“I am going to find Fergus now,” he said with false lightness. “Perhaps you should advise Issobell of my protection over her son.”

“Don’t you…” Brody’s voice wavered as Gabriel turned away from him, cracking like the man was a pubescent boy again. “Don’t you force him either!”

Gabriel froze, his hand on the doorknob, and he slowly turned his head to look back at Brody. The human was sitting up a little straighter now, pointing a shaking finger Gabriel’s way.

“If I don’t force him to choose our Mistress, you don’t force him to choose your Valhalla, or whatever it is he’d get if he follows you! Free will!” Brody’s fear of Gabriel radiated from the man’s body, an acrid stench in Gabriel’s nose, but the angel had to give him props for his stubbornness. “We can both tempt him, but Fergus will choose.”

Fergus would follow Gabriel, when the time came. Gabriel smiled thinly, no mercy in his eyes for this corrupt man. “Fergus will choose wisely,” he agreed. “I won’t need to force his hand.”


	5. Chocolate Cakes and Gabrielle Innes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel’s gone off to fetch Fergus, but Fergus is very busy trying to clumsily seduce Gabrielle. What’s an angel to do?

### Chocolate Cakes and Gabrielle Innes

There were only two real roads in Canisbay, two solid-packed dirt roads wide enough for two wagons to pass each other down their whole length. One stretched from the church down through the town to the southeast, and the other intersected it running northeast to southwest. The village’s sole tavern sat at the crossing, along with the village hall, the school, and a general store. Reverend Innes and his daughter lived in the manse just to the northwest of the heart of the village. His wife had passed away in childbirth before he moved to Canisbay, so the two lived alone.

The manse was a good two miles away from the MacLeod cottage, so Gabriel spread his wings again and took to the air. The flight was too short to work out any stress, but it was better than walking the human way. He landed behind the stables and dusted himself up (because someone who had just walked two miles down the rough pathways that made up the rest of Canisbay’s road network wouldn’t be as clean as someone who had flown) before stepping out and heading down the road to the manse.

Fergus was leaning against the gatepost, one arm wrapped around the stone, the other gesticulating wildly as he spoke to Gabrielle. The girl was standing in front of him, twirling a lock of hair around one finger, looking demurely up through her lashes at the boy. At their feet, Thorn sniffed the ground, circling around, his tail wagging. When he got too close to Gabrielle, she shoved him away with her foot, not quite a kick, but definitely not gentle. Fergus glanced down, but he didn’t protest. He just kept talking, making the girl giggle with his story.

Gabriel narrowed his eyes at the exchange, but he forced himself to smile as he came upon the two. “There you are, Fergus. Cousin Brody sent me to find you. He needs your help back home.”

“Lo-uke!” Fergus covered his slip quickly, beaming up at the angel. “You’re home! I thought you’d be gone at least another day!”

“Got some rides partway, made good time.” The MacLeods pretended that Luke went off to far away cities like Edinburgh or York whenever Gabriel took flight. To them, those cities _were_ long-distance. To Gabriel, they were barely a stroll away.

Not wanting to be _overtly_ rude, Gabriel caught Gabrielle’s eye and nodded to her, touching two fingers to the brim of a non-existent cap. “Afternoon, Miss Gabrielle. I heard your father had a fall?”

“He did, but Fergy fixed him up real well.” Gabrielle reached over and covered Fergus’ hand with hers, smiling bright enough to squinch her eyes up. As she moved her arm, a faint smell of roses whispered through the air. Gabriel recognized the scent as an Italian perfume he had given Fergus the last time he went to Europe. “He has such a _talent_ with his hands!”

Fergus stammered a thanks, blushing red and kicking his shoe through the dust at his feet. Gabrielle continued to beam at him, curving her back slightly to push her chest toward him. Gabriel _knew_ the girl knew exactly what she was doing, but he wasn’t sure if she was genuinely trying to encourage Fergus or if she just liked making him uncomfortable.

Regardless of her intentions, Gabriel threw his arm around Fergus’ shoulders and tugged him toward the road. “We should be heading back, before we lose too much more of the light. Give my regards to your father, Miss Gabrielle.”

“Good-bye, Gabrielle,” Fergus managed to say, releasing her gatepost and letting Gabriel draw him away.

“Farewell, Fergy! See you tomorrow!” Gabrielle giggled and waved the two off. Thorn bounded along after the two, his relief at being away from the pushy girl obvious to the angel’s eyes.

“Does Uncle Brody really want me home?” Fergus asked, once the two had walked past the church. Gabriel didn’t fly with Fergus, as much as he wanted to. He wasn’t sure how the remnants of Cariel’s angelic spirit would react to angelic flight. The longer he stayed with Fergus, the more of a risk even the slightest lack of control became. “He said I could have the whole afternoon off to help Reverend Innes.”

Gabriel shrugged. It was a marvel, really, how fast Fergus recovered his senses once he was out of sight of Gabrielle. “Nah, I lied. _I_ wanted you back.”

“You’re _jealous_ ,” Fergus teased, bumping his shoulder against Gabriel’s. Loki was short, for a god, and Fergus had grown recently, nearly the size of an adult man. Gabriel couldn’t mistake him for a child these days. “Did you bring me anything new for Gabrielle?”

Gabriel sighed, holding up his hand and giving a twist of his wrist. A little brown cake appeared in his palm, still warm from the oven. “Chocolate cake, from London. It’s all the rage in high society. This one’s for you.”

“I’ll give it to her tomorrow. She asked me to come by and check on her father again.”

“No, Fergus.” Gabriel held the cake out to the young man. “This one’s for _you_. I can give you another one for Gabrielle.”

Fergus looked from the cake up to Gabriel’s face. The angel smiled and held up his other hand, showing off a second cake. “I got one too. Whoever came up with this idea was a _genius_.”

Fergus laughed, taking the cake from Gabriel and sniffing it. “You and your sweets! I swear, if you had it your way, you’d eat everything sweet in the world!”

“I can’t help what I like,” Gabriel sniffed, bringing his own cake close to savor the smell before taking a bite. Even after being envesseled for a thousand years, humanity was _still_ coming up with new taste sensations to surprise Gabriel. 

Loki’s body craved sugary foods. Luckily, Gabriel’s tastes ran along similar lines. He didn’t _need_ to eat—Loki’s vessel could be sustained indefinitely with grace alone—but it helped keep up his image of a Trickster god. All Tricksters had voracious appetites to fuel their reality-warping powers. “Chocolate is _delicious_.”

“Did you bring enough for Mam and Uncle Brody?”

“If they want some.” Gabriel always brought genuine gifts for Fergus. For everyone else, he simply bent reality to create things he had seen on his travels. If Gabriel wanted, he could create a stack of chocolate cakes taller than himself, each one tasting as good as the first from the London coffee house. There was nothing special about those cakes, though, or any other created gift. Only Fergus deserved the effort of carrying an actual physical gift over any distance.

Fergus nibbled at his cake, grinning through the chocolate as Gabriel licked his fingers clean, his own cake already devoured. “Otherwise you’ll keep them for yourself? How many have you already eaten?”

Gabriel’s smile could not be described as innocent. Fergus knew him far too well. “Sixteen.” He paused and grinned even broader. “Today.”

When Fergus laughed, his soul danced within him. It sparkled and glittered, the angel within shining through. Gabriel couldn’t help but laugh with him, his grace unconsciously reaching for Fergus’ soul, stroking along its sides and wrapping around it. Gabriel couldn’t have kept it back without a massive struggle. Starved of contact from his angelic brothers, his grace sought every attempt to entwine itself with Fergus’ soul, the next best thing on Earth.

Fergus radiated happiness as he took another bite of his cake, leaning toward Gabriel so their arms brushed together as they walked. “Is this all you did this time?” he asked, holding up the cake. “London?”

“And France.” Gabriel summoned up another cake to eat as they walked. “Paris. Court fashions are getting ridiculous. The French king, Louis XIV, is shorter than I am, so do you know how he compensates?”

“Stilts?” Fergus suggested, grinning at the thought of a king shorter than the god beside him.

“ _Heels_.” Gabriel snapped his fingers, creating a delicately embroidered shoe with a bright red sole and high heel like the king favored. Fergus took the shoe from him with an incredulous look on his face, turning it over in his hand. “And because the king wears shoes like that, all the noblemen must as well, and because _they’re_ doing it, the next class down wants to, and on and on and on…”

“How can you walk in these?” Fergus asked, rocking up on his toes as if he were wearing heeled shoes. He took a few mincing steps and gave up, shaking his head. “You can’t! And you can’t run, either!”

“They’re nobles,” Gabriel said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “They’re rich enough to be impractical.”

“They’re idiots,” Fergus decided.

“You’ll get no arguments from me!”

Fergus passed the shoe back to Gabriel, and the angel discarded it with a snap of his fingers. “You should go to China next time.”

“I should?”

Fergus nodded, studying his cake intently. “Gabrielle wants a silk dress. You should get one from China.”

Gabriel’s wings stiffened against his back at the mention of Gabrielle. It was ridiculous that he, an Archangel of the Lord (rogue), felt in any way threatened by a slip of a girl sharing his name, but he hated her nonetheless. She captivated Fergus, even as she held him at arm’s length. “So _Gabrielle_ dictates my movements now?” Gabriel didn’t bother to hide his sneer as he said her name.

“Don’t be like that!” Fergus glared at Gabriel, finally looking away from his cake. “She’s nice!”

“There are a lot of words to describe Gabrielle Innes, but _nice_ isn’t one of them.”

“ _I_ like her.”

“She kicked Thorn.”

Human and angel both paused to look down at the terrier tagging along at their heels. Thorn looked up at them, his tongue lolling, and he gave a hopeful wag of his tail. Gabriel sighed and snapped a sausage into existence, dangling it in front of Thorn’s nose before throwing it ahead of them. The little dog took off, a somewhat-chubby white blur down the path.

“She kicked him, Fergus. I saw her do it. I saw _you_ see her do it.”

Fergus shoved the rest of his cake in his mouth, taking his time chewing it instead of responding. Gabriel walked beside him quietly, waiting for him to finish. Thorn came running back to the pair, taking up his place beside Fergus again, his head held high, half the sausage still dangling from the side of his mouth as he attempted to eat and trot at the same time.

“I don’t care,” Fergus finally said, after he swallowed the last of his cake and didn’t have any excuse not to answer Gabriel. He folded his arms defensively across his chest, scowling down at the road. “She’s perfect.”

“Kicking your dog is perfect?”

“You just don’t get it!”

“Fergus, I’m a lot older than you are. I’ve been married. I have kids. I understand a lot more than you think.” Gabriel sighed, then reached over and curled his arm around Fergus’ shoulders, tugging him closer in a half-hug as they walked. “She’s very pretty, physically, yes. But she’s not good for you.”

“All my life,” Fergus said quietly, “ _all_ my life, I dreamt of marrying Gabrielle. Even before she moved to town, I dreamed about her. I just… I’ve always felt like I’ve needed to find Gabrielle, to be with her. And then she moved here, and I just…” He looked over at Gabriel, his face pleading with his friend to understand. “I know she’s not _perfect_ perfect, but we’re meant to be together. I just feel it inside. I can’t explain it, I just… I need her to love me.”

“Did,” Gabriel began, forcing the words out. They were tight in his throat, choked down by the implications of what Fergus was saying. “Did you dream about _her_ , or just… just her name?”

“Her name,” Fergus admitted, looking away. “At first. I mean, she was always… I remember those dreams. She was just this shadowy _something_ , but I knew she was incredible, and I knew her name was Gabrielle, and I knew I needed to be beside her. And then she came here, and who else could I have been dreaming about!?”

 _Me. You were dreaming about me._ Gabriel stared at Fergus, completely speechless now. The dreams of fallen angels, especially when they were young, were some of the very few ways that they remembered Heaven. Their dreams were the last vestiges of their angelic spirit reaching through to their human souls, trying to touch their grace and compel them to be good (or evil, Gabriel supposed, in the case of Azazel and his fallen comrades). Fergus’ dreams had been the last whispers of Cariel, beseeching him to be reunited with his lost choirmaster.

_I should tell him._

_I can’t._

Fergus was going to die and return to Heaven. Naomi was almost guaranteed to hunt him down and peel his memories from his mind. If Fergus knew the face Gabriel wore, Naomi would know, and Naomi would tell Michael and Raphael. Even if Heaven wasn’t watching now, even if Gabriel didn’t make a single mistake with his grace, his safety would be limited only to Fergus’ lifetime… and if Fergus didn’t go to Heaven? If Brody won and Fergus went to Hell? Then Alastair would be the one sinking his claws into Fergus’ mind. Once the demons knew about Gabriel’s continued existence on Earth, he would never be safe again. His identity could be a powerful bargaining chip to use against Heaven. Who knew what concessions the angels would make to bring back their wayward Archangel? Of course, there was always the third option, that Gabriel simply _didn’t let Fergus die_ , but that was unnatural and came with its own risks, not the least of which was pissing of Death. The oldest horseman kept showing up here and there across the centuries, and he was not a creature Gabriel wanted to cross. Besides, if Gabriel slipped for even one moment and Fergus got himself killed, he’d still end up in Heaven or Hell.

No, keeping Fergus alive indefinitely wasn’t an option. His soul would end up with either the angels or the demons, and either way, Gabriel would be in trouble if he revealed the truth. He shut his eyes tightly for a moment. He’d be alone again, when Fergus died… but not yet. No, not yet. He had plenty of time left still. Years. Decades. He could be happy today.

“We’re meant to be together.” Fergus sighed, leaning heavily against Gabriel’s side. “And I’m sure she’ll see that too.”

“There are a lot of Gabrielles in the world,” Gabriel said, finally managing to speak again. _And Gabriels. There is one right here!_ “Just because she is the first you met doesn’t mean she’s the one you’re meant for. Do you even like her?”

“I love her.”

“But do you _like_ her?” Gabriel sighed, sliding his arm down to Fergus’ waist. “Fergus, a relationship must be built on more than just love. You have to like her too.”

Fergus didn’t say anything, his arms still folded stubbornly tight over his chest, but he allowed the more intimate hug. Gabriel closed his eyes and sighed again, tilting his head to bump it against Fergus’. “I’ll bring you some silk from China next time, but you’ll have to make the dress yourself.”


	6. Meant to Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Musings on angelic masturbation, the creation of godly relationships, and how things are meant to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of last night's Supernatural episode, this series is now slightly off-canon. To be completely fair, though, Supernatural itself is off-canon! If you kindly ignore the existence of an actual Garden of Eden, we can continue to act as if everything is normal!

### Meant to Be

Gabriel stood atop the little cottage, his feet not even bruising the thatched roof. His wings were uplifted and his eyes half-closed as the night breezes swept off the cliffs and rustled through his feathers. He was still and silent in the night, invisible to mortal eyes, watching over this family.

He could fly. His wings twitched and stretched further at that thought, angling into the wind. He could leap from this roof and take to the sky, winging his way up to the stars. Part of him yearned for that height, that freedom. There was no danger here, no threat to the MacLeods or even to Canisbay. He _could_ fly.

But he didn’t.

He could enter Fergus’ dreams, or Brody’s, or Issobell’s. He could close his eyes and step sideways, slip into their undefended human minds with the same ease as blinking. He could walk among their imaginations, or change them. He could spy upon their dreams and intrude upon the privacy of their innermost thoughts without them ever knowing or being able to stop him. He _could_ enter their minds.

But he didn’t.

Gabriel flexed his wings once more before reluctantly folding them in closer. He respected the MacLeods too much to invade their minds without permission, and he loved Fergus too much to leave him alone, even for an hour as he slept, without letting him know. Even a short flight over the sea was too far to go while Fergus expected his sleep to be guarded.

The angel turned his gaze downward, blinking twice to look past the solid materials of the house. Issobell and Brody had their own little beds, box frames filled with straw and covered with blankets. Fergus lay on the floor, curled up with a little down pillow between his head and arm. Thorn slept on his feet, snoring faintly in the darkness.

Fergus was awake. His eyes were closed tightly and there was a faint flush to his skin, but the way the boy bit his lip or moved his free arm beneath his blanket could not be attributed to a good dream. Or perhaps it could, a dream so good that Fergus had been awakened and needed to take care of some bodily demands. Gabriel smiled faintly before blinking again to give the boy his privacy. He knew exactly what Fergus was doing.

Angels as a whole did not masturbate. The very concept behind the act was foreign to most of the Host. Self-pleasure? There wasn't even a word for it in Enochian. No angel could bring pleasure to himself.

Even Gabriel, by now the most educated angel when it came to humans and all of their oddities, did not masturbate, though he did understand why humans did. For all the similarities between God's firstborn children and his greatest creations, there was one glaring difference.

Angels were not meant to be alone.

The Host was not a true hivemind, like colonies of ants or bees, but they were the closest thing to it while still allowing for individuality. Every angel was connected to every other angel, their minds linked together, a constant hum of song spread between the multitudes and recording the story of Heaven. They were designed to share every experience, to fight as one body, to love as one heart. For an angel to find pleasure, he needed to come together with a brother, or several, pressing graces together until it was almost impossible to tell where one angel ended and the next began. There was nothing overtly _sexual_ about this sort of angelic embrace. Rather, it was a confirmation of belonging.

_You're here._

_I'm here._

_We are together._

_We are not alone._

For angels, something as simple as a hug, a touch, or even just standing close enough to brush graces together could bring glimmers of this pleasure. Lying side-by-side, wings and grace entangled, was the closest two angels could come to sex without a physical body. Envesseled, sex itself brought great pleasure to angels, providing a physical aspect to the mingling of grace that could even break the barriers between angels. Gabriel remembered fondly the first time he had ever indulged in sex, with Michael and... well, with two of his brothers at once. They had so thoroughly loved each other that when they reached their physical orgasms, their graces had merged together, and for several long minutes the three genuinely _were_ one angel, whole, complete, _perfect_.

Gabriel had tried masturbating a century into his self-imposed exile when the silence in his head from his tuned-out brothers had grown too heavy. While the physical sensations had been pleasant, the lack of another's presence had only served to leave him all the more lonely and frustrated. He had eventually turned to the gods that had taken him in as one of their kind. He could lie with them and feel a sense of being connected to another again, but he always feared losing control and revealing the truth of his identity. Loki was a powerful god, but Gabriel was capable of crushing even the great ones like Kali, Zeus, or Odin. He always had to be careful around them.

The closest Gabriel had come to masturbating was to create puppets, living dolls infused with just enough of his power to act vaguely independently. They were rarely good for conversation, parroting only his own thoughts or memories, but the extra body allowed him to pretend he was with a brother or sister... who happened to be exactly identical to him in every way. 

Sometimes, Loki's spirit struggled awake beneath the pressing weight of Gabriel's. When that happened, the god was able to break apart enough to completely control one of the puppets Gabriel created. Those times always provided Gabriel with the most relief from his loneliness, as Loki knew all his secrets and Gabriel didn't have to hold anything back. Even with Gabriel allowing his consciousness to surface, an hour or two of freedom for Loki took an enormous toll on the god's energy. After such sessions, Loki would fall back into the soul-sleep of a vessel, resting for a century or two before trying again.

Gabriel hadn’t felt so much as an itch to find someone else to connect to ever since Fergus had found him. Fergus' voice never resonated in Gabriel's mind like the songs of the Host once had, and his soul never escaped the confines of his body to mix with Gabriel's grace, but he allowed Gabriel near and delighted in his presence. For the lonely Archangel, it was enough to wrap his grace around the boy and feel the echoes of Cariel. It was enough to touch his skin and feel the heat of his life. It was enough to watch over him as he slept, hearing the rhythms of heart and lungs confirming the boy's health.

It was enough.

The door below eased open and shut with the barest creak of old wood to catch Gabriel's attention and draw him out of his reverie. The angel watched as Fergus slipped out of the house and out to the privy, a book clutched to his chest. The young man huddled behind the little structure on the far side from Gabriel. Undeterred, Gabriel leapt across the gap between the two roofs with one push from his massive wings. He leaned forward to catch himself as he landed, crouched on top with one hand braced against the thatch.

Fergus had the book spread open across his legs, flipping through the pages with a frown. Gabriel froze when he recognized the ancient writing of one of Brody's grimoires. Fergus had no reason to be studying the spells by the light of the moon.

The angel glided off the roof on wings quieter than an owl's and crept up beside Fergus, still invisible. He arranged himself on the ground to the right of his friend before releasing his hold on his veil and materializing himself. "Whatcha up to?" he asked, looking over Fergus' shoulder.

Fergus jumped about a foot away from Gabriel, slamming the book closed hastily. "Nothing! I'm not-it's nothing!"

"Uh-huh." Gabriel snapped a bowl of strawberries into existence and picked the top one out, taking a bite. "Because you snuck your uncle's book out from under his bed for the fun of it. Hungry?" He offered Fergus the bowl.

Fergus sighed, his shoulders slumping. "I can't hide anything from you," he muttered, reaching over for a strawberry of his own. "Were you...watching?" This was coupled with a furtive glance and a reddening of Fergus' face, suggesting to Gabriel that he wasn’t asking about the book-stealing.

Gabriel shook his head, taking pity on the young man. For some reason, humans, especially this one, were excessively concerned with their nakedness and Gabriel seeing. "Nah. Was on the roof, heard you come outside. So. What _are_ you up to?"

“I was just… studying.” Fergus took a big bite of the strawberry. He always tried to fill his mouth when he didn’t want to talk, Gabriel had noticed.

The angel leaned over Fergus to take the grimoire out of his fingers. As his hands brushed over Fergus’, the youth tried to swallow his strawberry and started coughing, the tiny seeds sticking in his throat. Gabriel abandoned his hold on the book to reach for Fergus’ throat instead, pressing his hands against both sides of his neck and smoothing his thumbs along the front. “Shh,” he soothed, reaching out with his grace to mimic the outward caress inside, helping Fergus relax and swallow properly. “Shh, it’s okay, you’re okay.”

Fergus coughed and swallowed a couple more times, pulling away from Gabriel’s hands with his cheeks bright red. He scrubbed his arm across his face and pulling up his right leg until his knee was nearly pressed against his chest. “Er… thanks…”

“Food is for eating, not for breathing,” Gabriel chided teasingly, reaching around Fergus’ leg to steal the grimoire. Fergus practically jumped out of his skin at the sudden movement from the angel beside him, before groaning and pressing his forehead to his knee.

Fergus did some odd things that Gabriel had become accustomed to over the years, but this seemed unusual, even for him. “Fergus?” The angel cocked his head to the side, then reached out to brush his fingers across Fergus’ forehead as he’d seen thousands of mothers do over the centuries, checking for a fever, a fairly obvious sign of human illness. “Is everything all right?” The boy continued to be flushed, and his skin felt warm to Gabriel’s touch, but it wasn’t fever-hot. Unfortunately, that exhausted Gabriel’s diagnostic skills without resorting to grace.

“I’m fine!” Fergus insisted, reaching up to push Gabriel’s hand away. He didn’t push it far, though, his fingers twisting between the angel’s. Gabriel looked at their linked hands and curled his own fingers gently, squeezing Fergus’ reassuringly. Fergus gave a fragile smile, squeezing back, his eyes turned to their hands as well. “I’m fine,” he repeated, the tension already bleeding out of his voice. “Do you watch over me every night?”

“Every night,” Gabriel repeated quietly. “Every night I’m here, and when I’m away, I listen for you.”

“Listen?” Fergus asked, his voice dropping to a murmur to match Gabriel’s. “Even when you were in China?”

Gabriel smiled—as if distance mattered to him, an Archangel of the Lord. “If you ever call out to me, Fergus, I can hear your voice. I’m a god. Listening to prayers is part of the job.”

“Do many people pray to you?”

There was a sneaky sort of innocence in the question, an obvious tell that Fergus was trying to steer the conversation away from the earlier subject. Gabriel smiled indulgently. “Not as many as used to, but enough.” The constant whisper of prayers to both St. Gabriel the Archangel and Loki the Trickster God was an ongoing susurrus through Gabriel’s mind, sometimes friendly, sometimes hostile, always pleading. “Your voice will always rise above the rest. If you pray, I’ll answer.” Gabriel squeezed Fergus’ fingers between his once more before withdrawing his hand and turning to the grimoire now in his lap. “Where were we… ah, yes. Where were _you_?”

“Loki, don’t!”

Fergus’ protest was too late, his hands flying out to try to stop the book from opening as Gabriel snapped his fingers. The pages turned out their own, flipping to a section just past the middle, and Fergus groaned, pulling both knees up and hiding his face in his legs. “Look, it was just an idea…”

“Chimeras?” Gabriel brushed his fingers over the ornate black letter title of the page. Honestly, he had no magic, pagan or angelic, that could open the book to the place Fergus had been looking at last without knowing what it already was. He had just used some of Loki’s reality-bending power to make the book page through itself impressively. “Fergus, if you’re thinking of grafting Thorn’s head onto Gabrielle’s body…”

“What? No!” Fergus uncurled and reached for the book, trying to pull it away from Gabriel, but Gabriel easily held on to his side. “It was just…”

“Just…?” Gabriel encouraged, giving the book a playful tug to keep Fergus’ attention. If he didn’t want to let go, no amount of human pulling would make the book budge.

Fergus gave up and sagged into a ball around his knees again, mumbling something into his legs. “I’m sorry,” Gabriel said, putting the grimoire on his far side and curling an arm around the young man’s shoulders. “What was that?”

“A love potion!” Fergus wailed, pulling his head away from his lap so his words were clear. “I was looking for a love potion, okay? Satisfied?” And then he was curled up again, his shoulders hunching away from Gabriel’s touch.

Gabriel looked at the grimoire, then back to the distraught youth beside him. He shifted closer, lowering his arm to wrap around Fergus’ back and pull him close. “Fergus, you don’t need a love potion.”

“Not for me, moron. For Gabrielle.”

Gabriel bit back a smile at the insult that had no sting behind it. “Gabrielle doesn’t need a love potion either. They aren’t real.”

“They are too.” Fergus slowly lifted his head enough so his words weren’t quite so muffled. “I remember reading about one in there last winter. Everything else in that book is real, so why not the love potion?”

Gabriel sighed, rubbing Fergus’ back. “That’s… not what I meant. The potion’s real, yes, but it wouldn’t make Gabrielle fall in love with you.”

“Then why is it called a love potion?” Fergus asked, shooting Gabriel a dark look out of the fold of his arms.”

“Because it would make Gabrielle into a doll that would pretend to love you. Trust me. I’ve been around this great big world a couple of times. Love potions are _always_ a mistake. If you made a love potion and gave it to Gabrielle, she’d lose all of her fire and verve. She’d placidly follow you around like a lifeless cow, bleating constant reassurances that she _loves_ you, Fergy, you’re so amazing, Fergy…” Gabriel poked Fergus in the side, making him twitch and smile unwillingly. “And she would be as _mindless_ as a cow, always doing everything ‘because she loves you, Fergy,’ and not understanding when you get upset because ‘don’t you love her too, Fergy?’” Gabriel looked solemnly at Fergus. “She will _never_ stop calling you Fergy.”

Fergus squeezed his eyes shut, another little smile darting across his face. “I hate that name.”

“Then why do you let her call you it?”

“Because…” Fergus groaned, tipping his head back. “Because it’s _her_! Because we’re meant to be together!”

“If you’re meant to be together, you won’t need a love potion to make it work,” Gabriel pointed out.

“Oh, what do you know?” Fergus snapped.

“Married, remember?” Gabriel reminded the young man with a finger pointed at his chest.

Fergus shook his head. “ _Humans_ made you married. You didn’t choose Sigyn. Humans decided you would be married to her, and that’s how your mythos evolved. You didn’t have a choice. Have you even talked to her since you’ve been staying with me?”

Truthfully… no. No, Gabriel had been rather neglectful of Loki’s wife lately, but that was okay. She much preferred the company of Coyote these days, anyway (Sigyn had a real thing for Tricksters, apparently). Fergus was correct—the pagan gods lived their lives at the whims of their human believers. The gods didn’t create the myths with their actions so much as the myths created the gods with their stories. Loki had tried to explain it to Gabriel once, and Gabriel had in turn tried to explain it to the MacLeods. Fergus, it seemed, had remembered the lessons. Loki _hadn’t_ fallen in love with Sigyn, and he didn’t really remember the pregnancy or birth of any of his children (not even Sleipnir, who he had carried himself as a mare). The children had simply come into existence when the humans started cementing their myths, one day fuzzy concentrations of belief, the next, full-fledged godlings in their own rights, with Loki knowing their story as if it had never been any different. Though that was a fairly standard creation of most gods’ offspring, sometimes, the gods did have physical pregnancies. The Greek god Zeus was especially noted for his fantastic childbearing stories, carrying Dionysius in his leg or Athena in his head.

Gabriel was grateful that Norse mythology had settled down and he wasn’t likely to become impregnated again. Nor did he have to spend much time at Sigyn’s side. Once the mythos was cemented, gods tended to drift away from the established routines, crossing pantheons and mingling with their comrades from different cultures.

The angel sighed, letting his hand drop, dangling it over his knee. “All right, you’re right. My relationships aren’t like human ones. But that doesn’t change the fact that in order for something to be _meant to be_ , it has to be meant to be. You can’t meddle to make something meant to be.”

“But what if my meddling is meant to be?” Fergus asked, turning an innocent face up to Gabriel. The angel simply shook his head.

“Then you’re not meant to be with Gabrielle, but meant to meddle.”

Fergus closed his eyes and rested his forehead against his knees. “I hate this,” he mumbled. “I hate being all…” He fisted his hands and circled them around his stomach, trying to communicate his feelings.

Gabriel understood the gesture, even though he had no better words for it himself. He had felt the same way when sitting in his Father’s presence in the Garden, knowing that there was no easy fix to stop the fighting between his brothers. That feeling of despair and uncertainty, of knowing what _needed_ to be done but not seeing any way to do it… the angel sighed and turned to press a kiss to Fergus’ temple, ignoring how the young man twitched at the gesture. His soul brightened within him. That was the reaction Gabriel stayed attentive to. “What is meant to be is meant to be,” he murmured, unfolding one wing to wrap it around Fergus, cradling him in warmth and grace. “It cannot be forced. It can only be endured.”

“I don’t _want_ to endure,” Fergus muttered. “I want it to _happen_.”

“Well,” Gabriel looked up at the moon and the stars above, then back over to Fergus, “whatever is going to happen won’t happen tonight. You’ll have to endure till morning no matter what.”

Fergus shifted on the hard ground, hesitantly leaning sideways until his head was against Gabriel’s shoulder. Gabriel tightened his wing and arm around the young man, holding him close. “I need to put the book back before Uncle Brody finds it missing.”

“Let me worry about that,” Gabriel murmured, running intangible feathers along Fergus’ arm. “You go back to sleep, Fergus. I’ll guard your dreams.”

“Loki?” Fergus asked, sounding uncharacteristically childlike as he nestled against the angel’s side. “Are you and I meant to be?”

Gabriel smiled, warm and sad and ancient, and he tilted his head to bump it gently against Fergus’. “Always, Fergus. In every life, every time, you and I are _always_ meant to be.”


	7. Untimely Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel is flying in China when things go horribly, horribly wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The [Zhangjiajie forest](http://abduzeedo.com/files/originals/4/461484999_32c898caf6_z.jpg) is an amazing location that inspired the floating mountains of James Cameron’s _Avatar_ I highly recommend you check it out on Google images, if nothing else!

### Untimely Death

Golden wings sliced through the mist above the Zhangjiajie forest, dwarfing the smaller birds that flocked around the angel. Gabriel curved his flight around a sandstone pillar, spiraling up the dizzying heights until he burst loose over the top. The little birds swarmed around him, swept up by his wings. Gabriel laughed, pulling his wings forward and letting himself fall back down to the forest below, feeling the wind rushing past him. He threw out his wings at the last possible minute, checking his fall and spinning around to fly off through the forest again, swooping and diving among the rock formations and trees. The birds of the forest kept up with his aerial dance, joining in and breaking away as they saw fit. Few things on Earth could compare to the splendor of an angel flying for no reason other than the sheer joy of it, and the birds loved to be able to join in.

_Loki! Help me!_

Gabriel checked his flight abruptly, grabbing on to the nearest sandstone pillar and perching on the edge, his wings trembling slightly, stretched to their fullest extent. _Fergus?_ That had been his friend’s voice, raised above the usual prayers of his petitioners. 

_Loki!_ Desperation and grief filled Fergus’ silent plea, rippling through Gabriel’s grace.

In a blink, the forest was devoid of all angels. Gabriel was already halfway around the world, racing back to his human’s side.

On the dusty path between the heart of Canisbay and the little cottage Fergus lived in, six boys were gathered together, fighting. Gabriel landed behind a rock and folded his wings in, pulling his friendly Luke MacLeod demeanor over him like a cloak before stepping out and approaching the crowd. “Hoi! What’s going on here?”

“Stay out of stuff that ain’t your business,” one of the boys spat, literally spitting at Gabriel’s feet before turning back to the fight.

Not his business his ass. Gabriel could see Fergus in the middle of the crowd, trying to hold his own as the other five boys came at him with fists and sticks. There was blood on Fergus’ hands and smeared down the front of his shirt.

Gabriel waded into the fight, grabbing the boy who had spat at him, William Wright, and the boy about to take a swing at Fergus, Huchon Johnson. He slammed their heads together and shoved them aside, reaching for the next boy. Gavin Stout. Still the biggest of the Canisbay youths, Gavin was always the ringleader when they reared up and turned on the outcast in their midst. Gabriel grabbed Gavin by the scruff of his neck, hauling him away from Fergus. “I said, what’s going on here?” Gavin screeched like a wounded cat but couldn’t free himself from Gabriel’s angelic grip.

With Gavin neutralized and two more of their own sprawled on the ground holding their heads and groaning, the fight was over. The remaining boys Gabriel hadn’t gotten his hands on backed up, looking between him and Gavin warily. Fergus was bleeding from his nose and a split lip, but he immediately turned away from Gabriel, dropping to his knees and gathering a little white body into his arms.

_Thorn._

One glance at the dog was all Gabriel needed to know he was dead. Fergus cradled Thorn’s body against his chest, looking back at Gabriel with a prayer etched across his face. _Bring him back, Loki? Please bring him back?_

“You killed his dog?” The words rumbled in Gabriel’s chest, and he turned a glare onto Gavin, still helpless in his grasp. “What did Thorn ever do to you?”

“The mangy thing bit me!” Gavin protested, aiming a kick in Fergus’ direction. He was too far away to connect with anything, but Gabriel still gave him a shake nonetheless.

“Before or after you ganged up on Fergus?” 

“He shouldn’t be going after Gabrielle!”

Gabriel threw Gavin to the ground, away from Fergus. _Gabrielle._ Of course this fight was about her. Everything for these six boys boiled down to Gabrielle Innes these days. “All of this, over a _girl_?”

No matter how much Gabriel wanted to avenge every bruise already forming on Fergus’ exposed skin, or the heartbreak in the boy’s eyes, he knew better than to kill one of the village boys. That would only bring a world of hurt down on the entire MacLeod family, one that would require more than Loki’s reality-warping powers to mend. “Get out of my sight. All of you!”

A bellowing Archangel was enough to scare even a hellhound into backing down. Five overgrown bullies stood no chance. Gavin was the first to scramble away, running home as fast as he could manage, the other two still standing hot on his heels. The two Gabriel had hurled together took an extra minute to find their feet, staggering off almost drunkenly, trying to keep themselves upright.

“He was just trying to protect me,” Fergus whispered, digging his fingers into Thorn’s fur, matted with blood around his ears. “Gavin kicked him into that rock, and Will stomped on him…”

Gabriel turned and crouched beside Fergus in one flowing motion, his wings sweeping around to wrap boy and dog together. “Fergus, I’m so sorry. I came as fast as I could…”

“You didn’t tell them to chase after me,” Fergus muttered, catching his sleeve in his hand and blotting at his eyes, grimacing as he jostled new injuries. “Just… just bring him back.” He took a deep breath, offering Thorn out to Gabriel. “Please, Loki. Please bring him back.”

Gabriel set his hand on Thorn’s side, stroking the black and white fur gently. The dog was already cooling, his chubby body unnaturally hard in death. Gabriel could feel bones shifting beneath the muscle, could see the injuries the brave little dog had sustained that ended his life. “Fergus, I…”

Loki was not a god of the dead. That honor fell to his daughter, Hel. His powers did not overlap with hers in any way. He could not bring Thorn back to life. The best he could do would be to reanimate Thorn’s body and turn him into a zombie-dog, or create a simulacrum, an animated puppet to replace the dog himself. Neither would be ideal. Zombies of any kind tended to turn homicidal within a week or two of being created, and Fergus would only have to suffer the death of his dog a second time. A simulacrum would be controlled entirely by Gabriel, not a real dog and certainly not Thorn, no matter how closely Gabriel might be able to mimic him.

“I can’t.”

The dog’s spirit was already too far gone for Gabriel to catch with his grace. If he had been present at the moment of death, _maybe_ he could have snagged Thorn’s essence and tucked it back in his body. This long after the fact, Thorn’s spirit had moved on to wherever it was meant to be. Heaven, most likely. A well-loved dog like Thorn would have had a proto-soul and would be elevated to the Kingdom of God to wait for the master he loved to be reunited with him. Thorn and Fergus would share their own slice of Heaven, after Fergus’ death. (Abused dogs ended up in Hell, adopted by demons and twisted into the monstrous hellhounds that would pursue a scent past the ends of the Earth. Unaffected dogs ended up in Purgatory, most likely. Gabriel wasn’t positive where the souls of animals went. He had never asked).

Retrieving Thorn’s spirit was not outside the realm of the Archangel’s grace. All Gabriel had to do was reach toward Heaven and pluck the dog back.

 _All_ he had to do. Even that small show of grace would light up the entire country, with how long he’d stayed in one place, how much of his grace had soaked into the moors here. If he retrieved Thorn, he would have to immediately run and pray his brothers took mercy on the MacLeods and spared their lives.

That was unlikely. Raphael would cut them down where they stood to better interrogate their souls.

Even if Raphael spared Fergus, Gabriel would never be able to return to Canisbay. He was lucky the angels had never looked twice at Cariel’s reborn human self, or never suspected the pagan god who had taken up residence in his home. Each day he spent with Fergus was a blessing, and one Gabriel did not want to take for granted… or give up. Gabriel would not risk everything he had here with Cariel, with Fergus, for the life of one dog, no matter how beloved Thorn had been.

“You can’t?” Fergus pulled Thorn back, hugging him to his chest. “What do you mean you can’t?”

“I’m not a god of the underworld,” Gabriel said, lifting his hand slightly and staring at it, as if he could see Thorn’s spirit clinging to his fingers. “I cannot intrude into Hel’s domain.”

“Then ask her to!” Fergus pressed his face against Thorn’s fur, his shoulders giving a violent shake. “Ask her to bring him back! She’s your daughter; she has to do as you say!”

“That’s not how it works.” Gabriel’s wings tightened around Fergus’ shoulders, but he didn’t reach for the boy with his hands. “Hel takes her custodianship of the dead very seriously. She does not release souls easily, not even the little souls of dogs.”

“Make her!”

“I _can’t_ , Fergus!” Gabriel pressed the heels of his hands into his forehead, taking a deep breath. “I can’t,” he repeated, forcing himself calm. “I’m sorry, but that isn’t how things go with Hel. She answers to no one but herself.”

Fergus rocked back and forth slowly, still holding Thorn against his chest. Gabriel remained near him, not touching him save for his intangible wings.

“She does not release souls easily,” Fergus finally repeated under his breath. “ _Not easily._ That means she _does_ release them!”

Gabriel closed his eyes. “She has been known, on occasion, to allow a soul to return to the mortal realm.”

“How?” Fergus lifted his head, the blood from his injuries streaked across his face. “ _How_ , Loki?”

Gabriel opened his eyes to look solemnly back at Fergus. “Usually it’s a test, or a trade.”

“Can you offer her something?” Fergus asked. “Could _I_?”

“ _No_.” Gabriel had not had many dealings with Hel, Loki’s half-dead daughter, but the goddess of the underworld gave him the creeps. She seemed able to look right through him with her dead eye, seemed able to read the truth of his possession with her unblinking stare. Even though she had never said anything outright, Gabriel did his best to avoid her whenever possible. The idea of seeking her out intentionally set his feathers on edge.

There was more reason than that why he wanted to avoid Hel, though. “You should not propose a trade with Hel unless you are willing to give up that which you cherish most. When you ask Hel to defy the laws of the universe, she will ask for a greater price than one soul in return.”

“But he’s just a dog,” Fergus whispered.

“Undoing the death of even a fly is unnatural and unholy.” Gabriel reached out and touched his fingers to Fergus’ cheek. “Fergus, I _am_ sorry. I cared for Thorn too, you know that. If I could do something,” _without risking you,_ “I would.”

Fergus closed his eyes, turning his face just slightly into Gabriel’s touch. After a moment, he took a deep, stuffy breath through his nose and pushed himself to his feet using his elbows, still holding Thorn close. “We should… we should take him home. He’d like that.”

“He’d like that very much.” Gabriel stood as well, stepping close to Fergus and wrapping his arm around the young man’s shoulders. “Come on. Let’s go home.”


	8. Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life is defined by the choices you make and the choices you let others make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My most sincere apologies for the delay in posting this! Between my keyboard crashing, my mouse refusing to cooperate, and my network going down, I had no chance until now to post!

### Choices

Inside the little cottage, Fergus laid Thorn’s body on the kitchen table. He rested his hand on his dog’s side and gave another shuddery sigh, squeezing his eyes shut. Gabriel stood by the door, just watching. He was failing Fergus by not restoring Thorn’s life, but he _couldn’t_. He couldn’t risk it. The angel balled his hands into fists and looked away. He hated feeling helpless. He was an Archangel of the Lord. There had to be _something_ he could do.

He could talk to Hel… but no. Gabriel already knew what Hel would ask for. Well, several things she might ask for, neither of which he was willing to part with. In exchange for Thorn’s life, she could ask for Fergus’… or she could ask for Gabriel’s real identity. As a goddess of the dead, surely Hel was capable of seeing souls to some extent. She had to be able to see that her father’s soul was shrouded in another.

There was nothing in this world, or any of the other realms, worth Fergus’ life, and Gabriel did not relish the thought of the shadowy goddess knowing any of his secrets, or even having any more reason to notice him. He didn’t know how closely she worked with the demons of Hell or if she was in contact with Azrael, the angel who watched over the realm of the dead in Heaven. Even if she only worked with the Reapers, she was still too close to angels for Gabriel’s comfort. He couldn’t offer her his secret in exchange for the dog’s life.

There was nothing else Gabriel _could_ offer Hel; nothing the goddess would be interested in. Thorn was dead, and Gabriel was as useless as a human.

“Unholy.” Fergus looked back at Gabriel, his face still stained with his own blood. “You said bringing Thorn back would be unholy.”

“Yes.” Gabriel’s fingers itched to wipe that blood away, to heal Fergus as much as he dared, but he held himself back. He couldn’t save Fergus’ dog; what right did he have to help the young man?

“Witches specialize in unholy.”

“Fergus, _no_.” 

Angel and human moved at once, both breaking toward the little beds in the cottage’s sleeping room. Gabriel moved faster than Fergus, slamming his hand down on Brody’s straw mattress before Fergus could lift it and remove the grimoire beneath the bedding. “You’re not a witch.”

“Yet,” Fergus’ eyes shone with tears he was refusing to shed, but his jaw was set firmly against the angel. “I’m not a witch _yet_. But I’m meant to be. I will be. I’ll bring Thorn back.”

“No!” Gabriel set his hand on Fergus’ chest, reaching for the human’s soul with his grace, trying to bring calm and clarity to the distraught young man. “Fergus, _think_! Once you start down the path of witchcraft, there is no redemption.”

“So?” Fergus pushed against Gabriel’s hand, trying to get the angel to move. “What does it matter? I’m destined for Hell anyway. Why not embrace it to help Thorn?”

“Because you _aren’t_ destined for Hell.”

“What do you know?” Fergus gave Gabriel’s arm another shove, but the angel wouldn’t be budged. “You’re a god! You’re never going to die!”

“Just because I’m not going to die doesn’t mean I don’t know what happens after death!”

“Loki.” Fergus stopped struggling, leaning against Gabriel’s hand planted against the center of his chest, both of his hands curled around Gabriel’s lower arm. “Loki, let me do this. I want to do this. Please let me do this!”

 _Free will._ It was God’s greatest gift to humanity, the most holy thing possible.

 _I can force my children to love me,_ God had once told Gabriel, when they spoke alone, _but it is a far greater gift for them to **choose** to love me. I cannot allow them to choose to love me without also allowing them to choose to hate me._

Gabriel understood the words, even though he had not understood the reasoning. God’s logic was not meant for angels to understand, he had decided.

He wished he understood now. Fergus was asking to choose badly, _begging_ for it. Gabriel could force him to stop. He could hold Fergus back or burn the grimoire. He could destroy Thorn’s body or banish any demon who tried to come within ten miles of Fergus. He could snatch Fergus up and fly away with him, somewhere free from demonic taint.

He _could_ … but then Fergus would hate him for both not saving his dog and not letting Fergus himself save the dog.

 _I love you._ Gabriel stared into Fergus’ soul, trying to imprint the colors and angles in his memory forever. If Fergus cast a spell, Cariel was doomed.

And Gabriel could not force him to stop.

The angel let his arm drop, closing his eyes and stepping out of Fergus’ way. “Please don’t do this,” he whispered.

“Thorn is my friend,” Fergus whispered back. “One of the only ones I’ve got. I can’t _not_ … he died to save me. I have to at least _try_ to save him.” He lifted Brody’s straw mattress, reaching down for the black grimoire hidden there.

“ _You_ are my friend,” Gabriel argued, wrapping his wings around himself. “One of the only ones I’ve got. If you do this-”

Pain. Torture. Hell. _Azazel._ Gabriel’s warning was never completed, because the door swung open and Issobell and Brody entered, sister laughing at something her brother had said just outside.

“Fergus!” Brody was the one to notice the scene first, though Issobell’s laughter cut off abruptly as she looked from the dead dog on the table to her son’s bloody face. “What the Hell happened here?” 

“They killed Thorn!” Fergus pointed toward the table, not bothering to explain who ‘they’ were. There was only ever one ‘they’ in this family. “Loki couldn’t bring him back, so I was going to.”

Brody’s eyes fell to the grimoire Fergus was holding, and then the older witch turned to Gabriel, a triumphant gleam in his eyes.

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed, and he stepped closer to Fergus, reaching out to set a hand on the grimoire. “Fergus, why don’t you let your mother and uncle handle this? They’re far more experienced in witchcraft than you.”

“Thorn was _my_ dog,” Fergus protested, just as his mother argued “The boy has to start learning somewhere!”

“A strong passion for the magic in question always helps the first spell,” Brody rumbled, coming up beside Fergus and clapping the boy on his shoulder. “Come. There is a spell near the end that we can adapt to restore life to your loyal hound.”

Even though the man spoke to his nephew, he was still holding Gabriel’s gaze, silently gloating. Gabriel had lost. Short of _forcing_ Fergus to stop, which he could not do, Gabriel had no way to counteract the young man’s family.

That didn’t stop him from reaching out a tendril of grace, wrapping it around Brody’s mind and pulling tight. _You will burn in Hell,_ he hissed silently into the man’s head. _You and your entire family will **die** , and you will roast on Azazel’s rack. Your skin will be flayed from your flesh and your flesh stripped from your bones. You will stay conscious every moment of every torture, days turning into years, turning into **centuries**. Your moment of power now will be an eternity of pain later._ Brody swallowed visibly, but Gabriel did not let him look away, forcing him in place with his grace. _I will strike your name from every record and remove every trace of your life from this earth. You will be **nothing** but pain, but I will endure, and I will see you, and I will laugh._

“Yes,” Brody muttered, as Issobell swept Fergus out from under Brody’s arm and toward the table, “but… free will. _Your_ chosen one chose us. And _you_ will always remember that.”

 _He was never my chosen one,_ Gabriel answered, his eyes flashing gold before he wrapped his grace around himself and vanished completely from sight.

_I was his._


	9. All I Have

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fergus’ life is much more restricted than Cariel’s was and far more restricted than Gabriel’s is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm officially declaring this story canon-compliant as of mid-season 9. This second half makes it non-compliant, unfortunately. Damn those Supernatural writers!

### All I Have

Gabriel flew around the world twice, wrapping it east to west and north to south. He dove into the ocean, streaking down to the lowest depths and letting the crushing weight of the water sink into his core to make him as miserable outside as he was inside. He emerged from the water at the feet of the cliffs of Canisbay, shaking himself off under the cover of the new moon. The angel raised his hand to snap his fingers and dry his wings but stopped before carrying out the magic. Let them be wet. What did he care?

Grimacing in discomfort, Gabriel folded his waterlogged wings against his back and began the long trek around the cliffs to where the land sloped more gradually to the waves, then up past the little village and over to the cottage he had come to call home.

Fergus was sitting on the ground outside, leaning against the doorpost. His arms were wrapped around drawn-up knees, one hand dangling down to twist fingers through Thorn’s fur. He looked utterly miserable even though Thorn’s chest rose and fell steadily, his tail occasionally giving a little thump against Fergus’ feet. Gabriel could see from here that the dog was whole and healthy again, unblemished from his brush with death.

A thousand options ran through Gabriel’s mind— _I see your dog is back. Congratulations, you’re a witch. Was it everything you were hoping for? Happy now?_ —but he rejected them all. Instead, he simply hooked his thumbs into his belt and came to a stop in front of Fergus, his feet in the exact point the young man was staring at.

Fergus lifted his head slowly, dark eyes trailing up Gabriel’s body until they met his own golden ones. Fergus swallowed, his fingers twitching against Thorn’s fur.

For the longest time, human and angel stayed locked in their stare, neither wanting to be the first to break the silence. Eventually, Thorn spoke for both of them, giving a heavy _whuff_ of breath in his continued sleep. Fergus looked down, breaking the stare. “I did it.”

“I see that.”

Fergus’ shoulders slumped, and he closed his eyes. “You’re mad at me.”

“No, not mad.” Gabriel sighed, rocking onto his toes for a moment before closing the distance between them. He turned to lean against the stone wall of the cottage and slid down until he was seated beside Fergus. “Not at you, at least.”

Fergus glanced at Gabriel, and Gabriel invited him in with a cock of his head and a weak smile. Fergus’ answering smile was just as weak, but he leaned in to rest against Gabriel’s shoulder. “Then who?”

“Myself.” Gabriel slid his arm around Fergus’ shoulders, holding him close, and wrapped them both in his wings. “Your uncle. Your mother. The demon who’s now lending you her powers.”

“Mistress didn’t seem evil,” Fergus murmured. “She came to us like a child, a little girl.”

Gabriel huffed derisively and shook his head. “She does that. Corrupter of the innocent. That little girl was a real little girl, somewhere, and that demon possessed her. It slid into her mind and held her hostage, getting off on her screams as she did horrible things with her body. Probably killed her parents and made the child watch. That’s what she _does_ , Fergus. It’s who she is, how she was created.”

“How would you know? You’ve never met her.”

“Are you sure?” Gabriel arched one eyebrow at Fergus.

“I asked her. She said her path has never crossed with yours.”

“Not like this it hasn’t,” Gabriel agreed. “We’ve met before, several times, but she never knew it was me.” He touched a finger to his lips. “I’m sneaky like that.”

Honestly, Gabriel wasn’t sure if Lilith would recognize him in this form or not. She knew his sword, certainly, but could she see his wings? Could she feel his grace? Gabriel didn’t know, and he didn’t want to find out that she could. He avoided the powerful demons, just in case. Lilith, Azazel, Alastair, Beelzebub, and Abaddon. These were the demons who had survived the war with Heaven, the demons who had undeniable proof of the existence of angels. Lilith, the first demon, ancient and cunning. Azazel and Alastair, the leaders of the fallen fallen, Lucifer’s most trusted servants. Beelzebub and Abaddon, the last two Knights of Hell, the elite anti-angel fighting force created from the double-fallen. Gabriel did not want to attract their attention any more than he wanted that of his brothers.

It was Fergus’ turn to sigh, pressing in closer to Gabriel’s side. He shivered a little beneath Gabriel’s damp wings, and the angel frowned. He stoked his grace, spreading it into his feathers and boiling away the last of the water that still clung to him. Now Fergus settled down, blanketed by Gabriel’s heat. “Is it bad that I liked her?”

“It’s not good,” Gabriel hedged. Demons could be charming when they wanted to be. It was a necessary skill for their survival as a species. Demons needed to be able to lure humans to their side, and while there would always be humans drawn to the demonic, there were far more who were normal people with normal lives needing a little more of a carrot before being ensnared by evil.

“She said she could help me with Gabrielle.”

“ _Don’t,_ ” Gabriel growled. “Fergus, don’t. One spell could maybe be explained away when it comes time to judge your soul at the end of your life. Especially _this_ spell.” He reached down to stroke his hand over Thorn’s side. The dog shifted, cracking his eyes open and wagging his tail when he recognized Gabriel. “You sacrificed your soul’s purity for the life of your friend. That can be respected and understood. But to ask a demon for help with your love life? That’s harder to put a noble spin on.”

Fergus hunched his shoulders further. “I already said yes.”

“Fergus…” Gabriel breathed the young man’s name out, wing and arm tightening around him as if he could shield him from his mistakes. “ _Why_?”

“Because I had to!” Fergus pushed away from Gabriel, jumping to his feet and pacing agitatedly in front of him. “You’re a god, you don’t understand what it’s like. I’m stuck here, and stuck _here_ , and there’s no one else around for miles and miles, and even if we aren’t meant to be like you always say, she’s still the only girl who even talks to me, and it _has_ to be her.”

Gabriel didn’t understand, but he didn’t think it was because he was a god. Fergus made no sense. If Gabriel slipped into Fergus’ mind, he might find some logic behind what seemed to be incoherent ramblings… but that required Gabriel to slip into Fergus’ mind and violate his privacy. Gabriel refused to enter another’s mind without permission ever since he had ripped Azazel’s to shreds. “Fergus, I-”

“No.” Fergus pointed a trembling finger at Gabriel. “ _No_. I did it because I had to. I know… I know I’m going to go to Hell for it, but I’m okay with that. I really am.”

“Fergus, your mortal mind has no comprehension of what Hell will be like,” Gabriel tried to reason. “ _My_ mind barely grasps it!”

“Then I’ll figure it out when I’m there.” Fergus slumped again, shoving his hands into his dark red hair. “I’m doomed anyway, Loki. I might as well live my life to the fullest while I have it.”

“Fergus…”

“It’s what Uncle Brody does,” Fergus pointed out. “Take advantage of everything we have while we have it. Who cares about tomorrow? Today is what counts.”

“Your uncle is hardly a decent role model.”

“He’s all I’ve got. _This_ ,” Fergus spread his arms out, “this is all I’ve got. I can’t screw it up.” He scrubbed his hands over his face and sighed. “I need a wife, Loki. I just, I need a wife, and then everything will be better. You’ll see. Everyone will see.”

“A wife won’t fix things,” Gabriel warned, getting back to his feet to face Fergus evenly. The man stared back with tired eyes.

“It’s a start.”


	10. Congratulations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is how a boy becomes a man. Not with a bang, but with a… well, yes, all right, with a bang.

### Congratulations

Lightning flashed, illuminating the form of the angel standing guard above the MacLeod cottage. Huge wings stretched out like shadows behind him in the moment of light, hundreds of wings, the mark of an Archangel of Heaven. Gabriel shook his head fiercely, splattering drops of water even as more fell onto his vessel, soaking through his clothes and running down his skin.

He _hated_ storms.

This storm seemed entirely natural. There was no grace in the wind that whipped against his wet face or the lightning that sizzled through the air. Raphael was not involved. If Barachiel’s angels were stirring up this mess (who was in charge of weather now, Hael? No, she had the terraforming garrison… at least she did a thousand years ago. Oriel? Oriel sounded right…), they had kicked it up hundreds of miles away, too far for Gabriel to feel without stretching.

The angel sighed and curved his wings up and over his head, trying to block the worst of the rain. Insubstantial though they were, the concentrated presence of _angel_ did manage to deflect some of the water.

Gabriel was still drenched by the time Fergus came home, slipping and sliding his way up the muddy path toward the cottage. Gabriel leapt from the roof to meet him. “What took you so long?” he demanded, stretching his wings across to shelter Fergus as well. He had been asked to remain behind today while Fergus ‘took care of something’ in the village. Fergus had been gone for hours. Gabriel had waited. “What were you even doing?”

Fergus laughed, grabbing Gabriel’s arm for balance as he slipped again. “I had a great day, Loki, thanks for asking!”

“That isn’t what I asked!” Gabriel scowled, half-helping, half-shoving Fergus toward the cottage. “You know I hate rain!”

“You _could_ have gone inside,” Fergus pointed out, with a not-so-innocent little smirk. “I didn’t ask you to wait in the storm.”

Gabriel growled under his breath at the man. Fergus knew full well (though he didn’t necessarily understand why) that Gabriel did not like to spend any more time in Brody’s presence than necessary, at least not without Fergus himself to act as a buffer. Ever since Brody helped Fergus corrupt himself, Gabriel could not stand to look at the witch. For what little it helped, Brody’s subconscious mind had finally recognized Gabriel as higher up the food chain. Brody constantly flinched whenever Gabriel entered the room or glanced his way. The instinctive terror now ingrained in the man was almost worth his unbearable presence.

The storm rushed into the cottage as soon as the door was opened. Issobell barely had time to snap “Shut that door, you damn fools!” before Fergus was bolting it behind them and Gabriel snapping his fingers to instantly dry everything that had been touched by the rain, himself and Fergus included. Already feeling better, Gabriel ruffled his wings and folded them in.

Fergus ran a hand through his hair, grinning over at Gabriel. “Sure is handy to have a god around.”

“I knew it. You just like me for my magic.” Gabriel settled down in his customary spot by the fireplace, crossing his legs in front of him and leaning back on his hands. He ignored Brody in his chair on the other side, his eyes only focused on Fergus as he shed his outerwear.

“I can’t say it’s not one of the reasons you’re awesome,” Fergus agreed, finally flopping down beside Gabriel, his legs spread over the angel’s lap as he pointed his bare feet at the fire. Gabriel reached out to cover Fergus’ toes with his warm hands, and Fergus gave a pleased groan, tipping his head back. “Yeah, that too. You’re _never_ cold, Loki.”

“God,” Gabriel said with a shrug, as if that was explanation enough. It was, to the MacLeods.

“Have a successful day?” Brody asked, looking down at his nephew.

Fergus grinned again, his face flushed in the fire’s glow. “Oh yeah, everything went _perfect_! Well, except for the storm, but that actually helped. She wanted to get in close…”

“She?” Gabriel asked, feeling a familiar curl of jealousy spiral through his grace. He knew who, but Fergus just confirmed it.

“Gabrielle, who else?”

“Was this the ‘help’ offered by your mistress?”

Fergus’ slightly embarrassed nod was all the confirmation Gabriel needed. Brody laughed loudly, one of his old belly-laughs, but it was strained these days. “Our boy’s become a man!”

Gabriel wanted to hit something. He wanted to slam his fist through Brody’s face. Fergus was his, _his_ , and that girl, that _bitch_ had stolen him away, had taken a piece that Gabriel would never have now, never, never. Gabriel wanted to ignite every volcano and drown the world in fire. _His_!

Fergus glanced up at Gabriel, uncharacteristically shy, and Gabriel loosened his hands around Fergus’ feet, found a smile somewhere in his reserves and moved his hands up to Fergus’ ankles, then his calves, slowly warming the stretch of exposed skin beneath his too-short trousers. “Congratulations.”

A section of the cliffs crumbled into the sea that night as the people of Canisbay slept out the storm. Too much water, too little rock. The boulders poking out of the sea were an impressive sight. The imprint of an Archangel’s fist was buried at the bottom of the pile.

Gabriel sighed to himself as he sat in the wooden church pew the MacLeods had claimed as theirs decades ago. He was at the wall end, staring out the glass windows. Fergus sat to his right, then Issobell, then Brody at the far end. Father Innes was preaching now, managing to do a fair interpretation of the meaning of Jesus’ words even though the words themselves were incorrect (Gabriel knew. He’d been there). The angel wasn’t bothering to pay attention to the sermon, ignoring his usual weekly entertainment of the misunderstanding of God’s Word. Fergus’ soul had darkened even further yesterday. Lilith was raking her claws through what remained of Cariel’s spirit as surely as the sun rose each morning. And Gabrielle… Gabriel turned his head to look at the preacher’s daughter, seated in the front pew, her hands folded demurely in her lap as if she hadn’t been indulging in “sins of the flesh” with the witch’s bastard boy last night. She was the very picture of lovely innocence, her golden hair shining in the sunlight filtering in through the windows, her face turned raptly toward her father.

Gabriel peered past her flesh to take a look at her soul. It was a pathetic, twisted, stained little thing, not demonically tainted but nothing to be proud of. Her machinations and manipulations had all taken their toll on her spiritual purity. Even Gabriel couldn’t say for certain where she would end up in the afterlife. She wasn’t corrupt enough for an immediate fall to Hell, but she was pretty badly messed up by Heaven’s standards. Still, he was the Messenger, not the Judge. He had no say in the final resting place of any human soul, not even one as fractured as Gabrielle’s.

Wait… _fractured_?

Gabriel sat up straighter in the pew, squinting across the church at Gabrielle’s soul. Sure enough, there was a break in the glow, a distinct corner separated from its mother and starting to grow in a different direction… because that was what she was now. A mother. Gabrielle’s body housed two human souls.

She was pregnant.

Gabriel focused on the newly minted soul, recognizing some of the swirl of color, seeing a horrible mish-mash of Gabrielle, Fergus, and _himself_. This new soul was one of his bloodline. It could one day be a vessel for his spirit.

It was Fergus’ child.

He should be happy. His line of vessels would continue unbroken. The next generation was being crafted already, should anything happen to Fergus. He would have a backup, just in case something went very wrong. He _should_ be happy.

He couldn’t be.

 _This is the help Lilith gave,_ Gabriel realized. Gabrielle was not promised to any man. Once it became apparent that she was with child, she _couldn’t_ be promised to any man. She was spoiled, tainted, and the only man she was deserving of now was the one who had so tarnished her. If Fergus was a good man (and he was), he should ask for her hand in marriage (and he would). Of course, Gabrielle and her father did not have to agree, but they would both know she would have no other option as long as she lived in Canisbay.

Gabriel didn’t even realize when the service had ended until Fergus was tugging at his arm, leading him out of the church. Issobell came up on Gabriel’s other side, hooking her arm through his. “You seemed awfully focused on our dear Miss Innes there, Luke,” she said, leading him away from the small crowd of Canisbay villagers. “Did you see something interesting?”

“Can you see inside her?” Fergus asked quietly, on Gabriel’s other side. Brody was thankfully keeping his distance, but he was still close enough to Issobell to hear their quiet conversation. “Is she… did it work?”

“Congratulations,” Gabriel said again, his tongue feeling stiff within his mouth. His wings opened behind him, straining toward the sky. He needed to get out of here. He needed to fly. He needed to _fly_! “In nine months, you’re going to be a father.”


	11. Gavin James MacLeod

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel won’t say “told you so,” but there is trouble in paradise for Fergus and his wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> James Innes was the Reverend of Canisbay Parish from 1667 until 1705. Gavin was named after him.

### Gavin James MacLeod

It took Gabrielle longer to realize she was pregnant, but as soon as the truth was out, she and Fergus were wed in a quiet ceremony in the village church. Bride and groom both cut stunning figures in traditional tartans: Fergus in a kilt and Gabrielle in a long dress gifted to her by Brody. Gabriel stood at Fergus’ right hand, the groom’s witness to the marriage, wearing a kilt of his own, but one he had snapped into existence. He wasn’t going to wear anything Brody had made. Father Innes presided over the ceremony, but the entire time he was stoic and cold, clearly unhappy with the husband his daughter had acquired.

After the wedding, Gabrielle refused to move into the MacLeods’ small cottage. Father Innes refused to allow Fergus to join him in the manse. Brody added the final straw to the argument, pointing out that a village the size of Canisbay could barely afford one tailor, much less two. Fergus would need to leave to find employment to support his new family.

That was how Fergus and Gabrielle ended up in Dundee, several hundred miles almost directly due south of Canisbay as the angel flew. Fergus and Gabrielle rented a room in a much larger building, living as frugally as they could while Fergus attempted to establish himself as a tailor in this city. Gabriel knew it was the largest collection of people Fergus had ever seen in one place (not counting the illusionary battles Gabriel would conjure up when Fergus was a boy). The crush of humanity could be overwhelming in a city like this, with a seaport and international trade bringing in strangers speaking hundreds of languages, but Fergus refused to be intimidated.

Gabriel himself followed the young couple to Dundee, though he had to lie low. Gabrielle had informed him in no uncertain terms that he would not be welcome to share her home. She had enough trouble on her plate without taking in simple-minded cousins as well. He could remain in Canisbay with Brody and Issobell and Fergus’ mongrel dog, also banned from her home.

Gabriel agreed to Gabrielle’s face and stood guard on the rooftop behind her back. As much as he detested the girl, Fergus was still _his_. He visited the man in his shop as frequently as he dared, walking the fine line between spending time with Fergus and keeping the missus happy. Fergus was having enough problems with his entitled wife as it was. Gabriel didn’t have it in him to make things any worse.

On a cold February morning in 1679, Gabrielle went into labor. Gabriel stood silently in the corner, invisible, threading his grace through his fingers and watching. If any complications arose, Gabriel was on hand to save the child.

He wasn’t about to risk revealing his grace for the mother.

Ultimately, his presence wasn’t needed. Gavin James MacLeod was born just as the city bells rang midday. Gabrielle named the boy. Fergus protested the name of his childhood bully, but Gabrielle narrowed her pretty blue eyes and informed him that if she was forced to bear his child, she would at least name it something she cared about. Even Gabriel recognized the venom in her words and winced in sympathy for Fergus.

Time, it would seem, did not heal all wounds. The rift between Fergus and his wife only grew deeper as the years blurred together. Gabrielle loathed Fergus for taking her away from her home where she was the village’s princess and entrenching her in this congested, filthy city where she was just another peasant woman in the crowd. Fergus hated Gabrielle for her self-absorbedness, for how quickly she spent whatever money he could save, and her constant scolding. Both had unbearably short tempers with their son, a constant reminder of how they were forced to be together. For his part, Gavin was a wretched child himself. Shunned by both his parents, he endeavored to play them off each other, encouraging their hatred as he struggled for scraps of their attention.

Gabriel tried to step in when the boy was young. Gavin was no Fergus, no fallen angel and ancient friend, but he was still one of Gabriel’s vessels and still in desperate need of something positive in his life.

Gavin wanted nothing to do with the angel. Any MacLeod was an evil influence, he had declared at the tender young age of four, his chubby arms crossed and his lower lip pouted out just like his father used to. Luke MacLeod could go to Hell. That was what his mother always said, and it was what the boy repeated.

Even as he bristled at the boy’s words (his mother’s words, spoken through his mouth), Gabriel still watched over him invisibly. That was why he was standing over Gavin at his lessons when the arrow came.

At eight years old, Gavin was completely oblivious to the grace-threaded bolt that flew toward his heart. Gabriel reacted without thinking, snatching the weapon from the air before it hit its target. A second arrow streaked through the air toward a girl sitting across the aisle, and Gabriel grabbed that one too. Cherubic grace fizzed in his hands. His own grace swelled around it, greedily drinking at the touch of a genuine brother, even one so distant. Gabriel stared at the arrows in mute horror.

Cupids. Cupids’ arrows. Eroniel’s. This was one of _his_ Cherubim, the Cupids who played matchmaker to the mortals. Most of their work was spent maintaining the lines of the angels’ vessels. One of them was looking in this room, _right now_. Looking at _him_.

Gabriel yanked his grace in tighter, closing his veil as much as he could, trying to hide. He had to run. He had to leave. He had…

He had Gavin’s arrows in his hands. One meant for the boy, one meant for his future wife. This was a chance to intervene, to change the direction of his bloodline. Gavin was hardly a suitable vessel, with his heart so bitter so young. The girl he had been meant for had a soul just as much of a mess as Gavin’s—was that a demonic taint in her soul? _Already_!? Those two together would not make strong, innocent children capable of holding an Archangel.

“ _Raphael_ ,” Gabriel growled under his breath. This had to be his twin’s order. His bloodline was being weakened, with corruption and taint being folded in more and more securely with each generation. Issobell and Brody. Gabrielle. Now Gavin and this demon-girl.

No. Gabriel wouldn’t stand for it. He _wouldn’t_ … and he had a small chance to change it. The angel cast his gaze around the classroom, scanning each soul. He needed one that was _good_ , from its core to its very edges. One that was _strong_. One that came from a solid family. He needed an overwhelmingly _angelic_ influence to counteract Gavin’s darkness.

There. Back row. The girl was two years younger than Gavin, but her soul shone bright and steady. Her dress was clean, her hair neatly plaited, and she had a pleasant smile on her face as she worked on her sewing. She would have to do.

Gabriel jabbed one of the arrows into Gavin’s heart, shoving the compulsion deep within him before leaping across the room to the girl’s side. He pierced her heart with the other arrow, working it into the very center of her soul. She looked up just as Gavin looked back, and their eyes met across the room. 

Gabriel heard the girl’s gasp even as he saw Gavin smile, for once looking like the little boy he was, but that was all he dared to watch. Eroniel _had_ to be scrutinizing this room for whatever went wrong with his arrows. He might even be calling for his Dominion now, for his Seraph, for _Raphael_. Gabriel spread his wings and took off, flying as hard and as fast as he dared. He shot through the streets of Dundee and dove into the North Sea, streaking through the waves. Raphael was smart, but he wasn’t _clever_. He knew Gabriel hated water and would avoid it at all costs. Surely water would be the last place he would look for Gabriel’s escape. Gabriel was counting on his brother’s predictability to give him a chance to escape.

He never should have grabbed that arrow.


	12. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel hates every moment away from Fergus’ side. He can’t return soon enough, but even that might be too late.

### Homecoming

Gabriel wrote letters to Fergus, long letters full of stories from wherever he went. Tangier, Algiers, Cairo, then skipping around Jerusalem (he’d spent enough time in that city for an angel’s lifetime), to Damascus and Baghdad. He cut across Asia on foot, cutting a trail of mischief through the unsuspecting populations. A pair of nomadic hunters chased him into Mongolia in 1695, but he lost them in the Gobi desert after a year and a half.

Gabriel wrote letters, and he sent them, but he suspected none were finding their way into Fergus’ hands. Whether it was Raphael’s doing, or the less-nefarious unreliability of human delivery, Fergus was losing faith in him. The man had prayed for him constantly, daily, for the first five years of Gabriel’s self-imposed exile from Scotland, asking him where he was, begging him to come home. The prayers slowly tapered off, coming in infrequently when they came at all. Fergus had no idea what had happened to his oldest friend, and Gabriel had no way of telling him that his brothers had brushed too close for comfort.

Ten years to the day since he left Dundee, Gabriel turned his wings westward and headed home. _Home._ Because home was with Fergus, even if Gabrielle refused to let him into her house, even if Gavin sneered in his face. Home was sitting in the back room of Fergus’ little shop, head resting against the man’s knee as he worked on his latest commission. Home was a little wood fire crackling in the hearth, the smell of dyed fabric and a glass of the Craig whisky that Fergus favored, with a soft song from Heaven hummed to keep the shadows at bay. Home was freckles and a crooked smile and _Fergus_. Home was a man with an angel’s spirit, and Gabriel missed him more than he’d ever missed Heaven or any of his other brothers.

Gabriel didn’t bother with the rooms the MacLeods had called their own. He picked his way through the narrow streets of the city, tugging his cap low over his eyes and keeping his wings folded tightly inside his vessel. Dundee’s air hummed and crackled with life and promise, and the lingering angelic grace Gabriel could taste was old, fading whispers of a search years ago. Dundee was safe again. Probably.

A little bell over the door tinkled as Gabriel entered Fergus’ small shop. Faded bolts of cloth sat in in the window, piled at the feet of a dress Gabriel recognized as three years out of style. Dust coated the shelves, and the only light inside came from a weak oil lamp on the counter.

“Fergus?” Gabriel could sense life in this shop, but he didn’t dare stretch his grace out further. He approached the counter the way any human would, one step at a time. “Are you here?”

“Well, well, well. Look who’s back.” Wrapped in shadows, Fergus drawled his greeting from the doorway to the back room of the shop, one arm stretched up the frame, the other hand holding a glass of whisky. “I thought maybe you were dead, you know.” His voice was bitter but so familiar to Gabriel’s ears. The angel’s grace thrashed against his hold, trying to reach out for the man’s soul, but Gabriel kept it tightly leashed.

“I’m sorry.” Centuries of dealing with Michael had taught Gabriel to lead with an apology when a brother was upset. That ingrained reaction asserted itself now. “I had to leave in a hurry. I _did_ write… but I take it my letters never arrived.”

“No.” Fergus scrutinized his glass for a moment, then tipped the rest of the drink down his throat. “They didn’t.”

Apologizing again felt redundant, so Gabriel said nothing. He reached up, slowly pulling his hat off, keeping his eyes on Fergus. Ten years was a long time for a human, a large fraction of a mortal life. Fergus’ face held more creases, his forehead wrinkled from frowns, a permanent crease between his dark eyes. He was thirty-six now, a man in the middle of his life. His body was still strong and lean, but his soul…

Fergus’ soul was shrouded completely in darkness, all but his very core of what had once been the most brilliant soul Gabriel had ever seen now extinguished. His soul wasn’t corroded like Brody’s or shriveled like Issobell’s. It wasn’t _damaged_ , it was just… dead.

“Oh Fergus…” Gabriel closed his eyes to the sight, pulling back to look at the man’s face. “What have you done?”

Fergus gave a sniff, glancing at his glass again before turning away from Gabriel and returning to the back room. A vague wave of his hand at the angel invited Gabriel to follow. “I didn’t know if you’d come back. If you’d come back in time.” He picked up the opened bottle of whisky and refilled his glass before tipping it Gabriel’s way with a raised eyebrow, another invitation.

Gabriel came up beside Fergus, picking up a second glass and wiping out the dust inside with a scrap of cloth. He offered it to the man for a measure of his own and waited for Fergus to sit in his usual chair before taking his customary seat on the floor at Fergus’ knee. “In time for what?” he asked, swirling his whisky around the glass before taking a sip.

Fergus held his glass loosely in both hands, resting it on his knee. His nails tapped anxiously against the sides, drumming out a familiar heavenly chorus. “My death. I’m dying.”

Gabriel twisted around to look at Fergus again, this time checking his health. “You’re not ill,” he said with a frown. “And you’re not old.”

“You and I both know those aren’t the only ways to die.” Fergus took a gulp of his whisky and tapped the glass against his heart on the way back to resting it on his knee. “My soul, Loki. I sold my soul.”

“You didn’t.” Gabriel’s grace froze within him, not even straining to reach Fergus anymore with the shock of what the man had revealed. 

Fergus gave a mirthless laugh, ducking his head so he wasn’t looking at Gabriel. “What did I have to lose?”

“Your soul!” Gabriel twisted around, rising on his knees and putting his hands on Fergus’. “What were you thinking, you daft fool!?”

“I was thinking you were gone.” Fergus lifted his head only just enough to look at Gabriel, his whole face shrouded in shadows. “You were gone, Gabrielle is…” he laughed again, another cold and bitter sound, “is a whore, and Gavin’s a little monster. Married, though, thank God, so not my problem anymore.” He hunched forward, curling in on himself with another laugh that came out choked and brittle. “I was thinking my soul was already doomed for Hell, as you yourself keep pointing out, so what’s the harm in hurrying it along? I didn’t think you’d come back. I didn’t think you’d ever come back.”

Gabriel set his glass aside and reached out for Fergus, cupping the man’s face in his grace-warmed hands. Brothers be damned, Fergus needed an angel right now. Gabriel pushed his grace out, unfolded his wings, and wrapped everything he had around the man and his dark, wounded soul. “I came back,” he murmured into the man’s ear. “I’m right here.”

Fergus’ glass toppled to the floor, spilling what remained of his drink, as the man’s arms came up to wrap tightly around Gabriel’s chest. Gabriel ignored the mess, pulling Fergus into his lap and holding him close to his core. He layered his grace over and around his friend, wrapping him in all that was good and holy about an angel, and when Fergus fell asleep like that, cradled in Gabriel’s wings, the angel finally allowed himself to cry.


	13. Lilith's Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel might be feeling sorry for himself, but he’s not the sort of angel to just sit around wringing his hands if he can actually _do_ something…

### Lilith’s Back

Gabriel flexed Loki’s might as Fergus slept, conjuring up a bed with a fluffy down mattress and thick quilts. He tucked the human beneath the blankets, skimming his fingers over the side of Fergus’ face and offering him a fragile smile. He had always known his time with Fergus would be limited, but he had also always assumed he’d get a full human lifetime with the man. This demonic deal was completely unexpected, and Gabriel silently cursed his brothers for still hounding him. If he hadn’t avoided Dundee for so long, if he hadn’t left in the first place, if he had just been able to tell Fergus not to worry…

There was no point dwelling on what couldn’t be. Gabriel shook his head to clear it of regrets. There were more important things. He had a deadline now with Fergus, only he didn’t know how far away it was. Without reaching in physically and touching Fergus’ soul (an excruciating process for the human, one Gabriel was not willing to put Fergus through), he had no way of checking for himself. Gabriel would have to wait for Fergus to wake up and ask him.

Fergus looked exhausted. His brow was still furrowed even as he slept, and he was curled up tightly in a fetal position. Gabriel couldn’t bring himself to disturb Fergus’ rest.

When Fergus woke up several hours later, Gabriel was lying on top of the quilts behind him, pressed against his back. He had covered them both with his wings, his own eyes half-closed as he prayed to his absent Father for revelation for the first time in centuries. He didn’t understand. He didn’t think he’d _ever_ understand.

“Loki?” Fergus’ voice was still heavy with sleep as he groped behind him, his hand searching. Gabriel snapped out of his meditation, catching Fergus’ hand in his.

“I’m still here.”

Fergus rolled over slowly, in stages, beneath the heavy quilts. First he got onto his back, then he flipped his legs over, then he rolled onto his other side to face Gabriel. The angel smiled, leaning in to press their foreheads together. “I missed you,” he admitted, pulling Fergus’ hand in against the base of his throat where his core pulsed the strongest. “I made a mistake and had to run before I was caught. I had to avoid the whole city, the whole _country_ , lest my brothers find me.”

“The Frost Giants?” Fergus asked, frowning as he tried to remember myths Gabriel had told him decades ago.

Gabriel smiled and nodded, letting Loki’s brothers usurp his own in his story. “Yes, Helblindi and Byleistr. I found something of theirs, and they wanted it back. I had to run quickly, so they didn’t encase this city in a block of ice.”

Fergus continued to frown. “But why so long? And why couldn’t you tell me before you left?”

“They’re _giants_. One of their steps is fifty of mine,” Gabriel lied smoothly. He had met Loki’s brothers several times before, and while they both towered over Loki’s much more human form, the three were fairly evenly matched in speed and strength. The laws of physics bent around the gods much the same way they bent around the angels, allowing an envesseled Gabriel to stand on roughly equal footing with his two-thousand foot tall ‘brothers.’ “I had to outrun them first, to buy myself enough time to outthink them. I didn’t dare lead them back to you.”

“Did you win?”

Gabriel smirked. “I’m here, aren’t I?” The angels hadn’t found him, but the lingering grace in the city said that they _had_ looked. He had been right to run. He had to be ready to run again, just in case. “I abandoned their toy at the northern-most part of the world, where they’ll have to dig through a world of snow to find it.”

Fergus smiled, flexing his fingers around Gabriel’s. “You’re awesome.”

“God,” Gabriel answered, as he always did. “Awesome is part of the job description.”

“I’m not so awesome.” Fergus closed his eyes and tucked himself against Gabriel’s chest like he was a child again, like they were just napping on the moors during a warm summer afternoon.

“I don’t know about that,” Gabriel murmured, reaching up to stroke his fingers through Fergus’ hair. “Would I have stayed at your side this long if you weren’t?” He could feel Fergus’ jaw clenching against his chest and sighed. “How much longer do we have together?” the angel asked quietly. “Give me a date.”

“You always thought so much of me,” Fergus mumbled. “April 26.” He breathed the date against Gabriel’s shirt. “Next year.”

“April…!” It was already December. Christmas was just a few days away. February was only a few _months_ away. Gabriel had thought—he’d _hoped_ —he’d have more time.

“Like I said,” Fergus mumbled, “I wasn’t sure you’d come back in time.”

“Did you get ten years?” Gabriel asked, easing out from the bed to pace, his wings twitched agitatedly in the air. “That would have just been a couple months after I left!”

“Five.” Fergus sat up, leaning against the headboard of the bed and watching Gabriel. The bed was only spared a cursory glance—Fergus was too accustomed to Gabriel creating whatever he wanted to be phased by new furniture appearing in his presence. “Mistress said a soul as tainted as mine wasn’t worth the full ten.”

“And you bought that crap?” Gabriel shook his head, looking back at the human. “Your soul, Fergus, was worth a thousand years.” Five years. Five years was when Fergus gave up praying to Loki.

“To _you_ , maybe,” Fergus sighed. “Not to anyone else.”

“Was it worth it? What you sold your soul for?”

Fergus shrugged. “Depends on what you consider the trade. For the actual perk as written in the contract? Not at all.”

Gabriel paused in his pacing to raise an eyebrow, and Fergus actually blushed. “Fergus?” The angel stepped closer to the bed, always enjoying when he could make the man embarrassed. “What did you ask for?”

Fergus cleared his throat and gestured vaguely at his lap. “Er… marital assistance?” Gabriel raised his other eyebrow, not understanding. Fergus groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. “A bigger prick, okay? Gabrielle was… did you know Gavin Stout followed us here? He lives around the corner from us now, and Gabrielle fucks him like _he’s_ her husband! I’ve interrupted them!” Fergus held up his hand, three fingers raised. “ _Three times_ , Loki! That’s just the times I’ve actually caught them going at it! And I thought…” He shrugged. “Why not, right? There’s got to be something about him she likes.”

“Fergus, you idiot. _I_ could have done that for you.” Loki’s ability to bend reality included shape-changing abilities, and they weren’t, Gabriel had learned, restricted just to him. “Did it help?”

“But you weren’t here.” Fergus looked away. “And no. Not really. Maybe for a week, but then she wanted to know how it happened, and Gavin overheard, and…” He sighed. “I mostly live here now.” He gestured to the shop. “If she wants Gavin, fine. He can have his whore.”

Fergus had finally let go of his old crush on Gabrielle, exactly what Gabriel had always hoped for, but this was hardly the circumstances Gabriel had wanted to find him in. The angel sighed, curling a hand around the bedpost and sitting at the foot of the mattress. “What about this place?” he asked, looking around. He had tidied up while Fergus slept, cleaning off the dust and cobwebs before joining Fergus in the bed, but the shop still looked half-deserted. “It doesn’t look like you’ve been working much.”

Fergus shrugged. “My soul was as damned as you could get,” he said, sagging back against his pillows. “What harm could more witchcraft do it? I used spells for everything I needed, everything _they_ needed. I provided for my family, even after everything…”

“And what do you consider the actual trade?” Gabriel asked, remembering how the man had phrased his earlier answer.

“Death,” Fergus answered quietly. “Mistress gave me a death that could not be avoided. It was just… just an end. An end to all of _this_.” He gestured around him vaguely. “There was a finish line, and I just… just had to make it until then.”

“Do you still wish for death?” Gabriel asked, not sure if he wanted to hear the answer.

Fergus lifted his head to look Gabriel squarely in the eye, his dark eyes sharp and focused for the first time all day. “Not anymore. Not if you’re back.”

Gabriel studied Fergus again, looking into the man’s soul. Even if he had full use of his grace… no. No, he wouldn’t be able to purify Fergus’ soul enough to rescue him from Hell. “You’re a good man, Fergus MacLeod,” he said, lifting his eyes to Fergus’, “despite everything. I can’t save your soul… but maybe I can save your life.”

“How?” Fergus asked, his frown furrowing between his eyes again. “I made a contract. We sealed it with a… we sealed it.”

“Contracts can be broken.” Gabriel hopped to his feet and clapped his hands together. “Right. First things first. Let’s summon us up a demon.”

Fergus looked skeptical, but he pushed himself out of bed and rolled up his sleeves. Gabriel found a pair of scissors among Fergus’ tailor tools and used the blades to slice his arm open. The man had given him a pained look, but Gabriel just shrugged. “I heal,” he assured Fergus, dipping his fingers into his fresh blood and beginning to paint a devil’s trap.

By the time Fergus had set up a summoning ritual, Gabriel was putting the finishing touches on his artwork. He looked over at Fergus and gave a nod. Fergus nodded back and crouched over his makeshift altar.

“ _Vocavi vobis dominam nobis gehennæ_.” He lit a match, dropping it into the bowl holding the ingredients needed for the spell. “ _Nos vocare te domina infernum_.” The ingredients flared up, all other flames dimming suddenly. Gabriel glanced around, feeling the rotting presence of a demon approaching. “ _Veni nobis regnum damnatorum, adhibenda vobis_!”

“You still have a few months left, Fergy.” A young girl about six or seven stood in the center of the trap, her head tilted to one side, a rag doll clutched in her hands. She was smiling sweetly, but there was nothing innocent about her milky white eyes. “Who is this?” She rolled her head to the other side, turning her blind gaze toward Gabriel.

“Hello, Lilith.” Gabriel gave a little bow to the demon. “I am Loki, pagan god of… well, _Fergus_. I’ve been hearing a lot about you.”

Lilith giggled childishly, lifting her doll to cover her mouth. “Loki! I’ve heard a lot about _you_!”

Fergus slowly rose back to his feet, stepping over to Gabriel’s left side. Gabriel didn’t look his way, but he did reach out to brush his fingers against Fergus’ hand. “I apologize for taking so long to arrange this meeting, Lilith, but it has come to my attention that you’ve claimed something of mine.”

“Have I?” Lilith shook her head, smiling sweetly. “A human soul belongs to whoever claims it first, Loki. Surely you know that.”

“No.” Gabriel shook his head right back at Lilith. “No, surely _you_ know, a human soul belongs to whoever is strong enough to take it back.”

“You know who I am,” Lilith scolded with another giggle. “You’ve called me by name. _Lilith_. The first demon. The Queen of the Damned. Ruler of Hell. You think _you_ , a human-begotten _pagan_ have enough juice to take on _me_ , appointed by Lucifer himself?”

“Yes,” Gabriel answered, reaching with his right hand. “Because you see, I’ve travelled a lot.” His sword slid out of his grace as smoothly as if he’d just used it yesterday, despite having ignored it for over a thousand years lest it attract unwanted Heavenly attention. “I’ve acquired a few trinkets.”

Lilith’s eyes were focused on the sword, her smile falling completely off her face. “You… you have _that_!?”

“He didn’t give it up without a fight, I’ll say that much. Has a nice weight to it, though.” Gabriel hefted the sword and swung it slowly through the air, the tip just barely humming through the inner circle of the trap where Lilith stood. The demon stepped back, her heel sizzling where it touched the Archangel’s blood. “So. Let’s make a deal.”

“A deal,” Lilith repeated, swallowing nervously. “I… yes. Yes, I think we can manage that. How about we… Fergus, how about you… _**FREE ME!**_ ”

Gabriel swore as the command burst through the trap, implanting into the man whose soul was owned by the demon in question. Fergus stuttered into motion, lurching toward the trap. Gabriel reached to grab him, but the man was already falling, his hand scuffing the lines, damaging the integrity.

Lilith did all the rest, screaming out of her meatsuit in a stream of black smoke that punched through the weakened trap. Gabriel shouted an Enochian spell, hurling the holy light after the demon, but he only grazed the edge of her cloud.

“God, I’m so sorry!” Fergus rolled onto his back, his eyes clearing. “I’m fine! Go after her! Don’t let her get away!”

Gabriel squeezed Fergus’ arm one last time, staring into the man’s eyes before spreading his wings. April 26. He had four months to find Lilith and make her revoke her claim.


	14. Fall With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How could it already be too late?

### Fall with You

Lilith had not survived as the oldest demon because she was easy to catch. She knew Gabriel was on her tail, but whether or not she realized he was the genuine Archangel and not simply a thief of an Archangel’s blade, he wasn’t sure. Regardless, she did everything she could to throw the angel off her scent. She possessed every child she came across as she led him in a bloody dance around the world, leaving a string of broken families in her wake. She summoned hellhounds and night cats, the monstrous pets of the underworld, and sicced them on Gabriel. Nests of demons buzzed up around the angel as he tracked Lilith, forcing him to stop and fight or dart around them before he could continue.

One snowy February day, Gabriel finally caught the demon right where they had started, in the backroom of Fergus’ tailor shop. Lilith, currently possessing a teenage girl, turned slowly, her breath coming in harsh pants. Her exhaustion was plain to see across her ravaged face, but Gabriel could feel the tell-tale hum of a freshly-cast spell vibrating in the air. Fergus was not present, but he had been here recently.

“All right,” Lilith said, raising her hands, all her fingers spread to show she wasn’t twisting a spell into existence. Gabriel was still wary as he slid into the room behind her, his wings stretching out to wrap around the demon and keep her from running again. Just as the average mortal (or angel, even) couldn’t see hellhounds, she wouldn’t be able to see his wings. “I give up. You’ve caught me.” Her white eyes were open innocently wide as she smiled at the angel. “Now what are you going to do with me?”

“Ask you to cancel Fergus’ contract.” Gabriel stepped closer to Lilith, drawing his sword. “I’ll even ask nicely. Please.”

Lilith shook her head, her attention focused on Gabriel’s sword. “I can’t do that, big god. Sorry. Ask for something else.”

“You’re the Queen of Hell,” Gabriel purred, reaching the sword out to slide the flat of the blade along Lilith’s cheek. The demon hissed and shuddered, pulling away from the blessed silver. “Who’s stopping you?”

“There are _rules_!” Lilith inched away from Gabriel, not enough to show she was trying to run, but just enough to keep her away from the angel’s weapon. “I’m not _really_ Hell’s ruler. I’m just… I’m the regent! _Lucifer_ is still the king!”

“And Lucifer says you can’t cancel a contract?” Gabriel didn’t believe that. He doubted his long-lost brother was saying much of anything from his buried cage. If Lucifer could communicate with the demons, the world would be in a lot more trouble than it was now.

“Fergus got his wish granted and had the full pleasure of using it for the five years of his contract! You want me just to give him that for free?”

“Give him a lifetime.” Gabriel brought his sword in again, merciless as Lilith flinched from the blade. “Give him eighty, a hundred years. Let him die an old man.”

Gabriel wouldn’t kill her. He suspected she knew that. He couldn’t _risk_ killing her. Lilith was one of the Lucifer seals, one of the locks holding his brother in his isolated prison. There were six hundred such seals, but only two of them, Lilith and the Righteous Man, were important. No matter which combination of seals broke to let Lucifer out, one had to be the Righteous Man shedding blood in Hell, while the other was the death of the firstborn demon. If Gabriel killed Lilith, he risked putting Lucifer one step closer to freedom, one step closer to the Apocalypse.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t hurt her.

It no longer mattered that Lilith had once been Sorcha, Gabriel’s favorite vessel. It no longer mattered that Gabriel had once sworn to protect her, or that he had failed to do so when he allowed his brother to catch sight of her. Lilith hurt Fergus, and Gabriel had no higher loyalty than to the man who had once been his best friend in all of Heaven.

“Well… I _could_ do that…” Lilith began, “but, see, there’s a tiny little problem.” She squeezed her finger and thumb together, as if she could illustrate how small of a problem it actually was. “The hit’s already been called.”

“ _What_?”

“Once a hellhound’s on your trail, that’s it.” Lilith shrugged. “They’re bred to kill, not think. Even _we_ can’t call them back.”

“He had until April!”

“I know.” Lilith shrugged expressively, her hands in the air. “I lied. Oops.” Smirking, the demon crossed her arms over her chest, a cat-like smugness settling over her face. “You can do whatever you want to me, but when the sun sets tomorrow, my dogs _will_ attack. Sure, you can probably hold them off with that sword for a bit—if you can see them—but you can’t protect him and threaten me at the same time. So, Loki, that’s your choice. You can make me pay… or you can go be with your mortal toy while he still has breath in his body. What’ll it be?”

Gabriel lowered the sword slowly, taking a step back, still staring at Lilith in horror. Tomorrow? Fergus was going to die _tomorrow_?

Lilith wasn’t important. Gabriel could always come back for her after Fergus was dead. She couldn’t hide from him forever. But Fergus… Gabriel needed to be with Fergus. He needed to see him again.

He needed to say good-bye.

He was going to say good-bye.

Fergus was going to _die_.

“That’s what I thought,” Lilith cooed. “Fergus is back where he came from, Canisbay, I think? He wanted to see _his_ sea again before he died. I sent him there just before you got here.” She wiggled her fingers at the angel in a childish wave. “Buh-bye!”

Gabriel snarled at her even as he stretched out his wings and took off, racing home.

He found Fergus sitting at the edge of a snow covered cliff, his legs dangling over the side. He held a bottle of whisky in one hand, not bothering with a cup. Even though his skin was pink and blue, Fergus wasn’t shivering or trying to get out of the cold.

Gabriel landed right behind the man, snow melting beneath his feet. He dropped to his knees, wrapping his fire-heated wings around Fergus , and fell forward to press his forehead against the man’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice catching on the word. Had Raphael been right about him all along? Was Gabriel incapable of doing _anything_ correctly? “I’m sorry, I couldn’t…”

Fergus turned away from the sea, his arms curling around Gabriel’s body, his cold nose pressed against Gabriel’s neck. “It’s okay,” he murmured back, his hands moving soothingly over Gabriel’s back. “She cheated. You tried.”

“It’s _not_ okay! You’re going to die!”

“Yeah.” Fergus took a deep breath, tucking himself in closer to Gabriel’s warmth. “Yeah, kinda figured that out about five years ago.”

“How can you be so calm about this?” Gabriel demanded, pulling back and grabbing Fergus’ shoulders. “How are you not trying to hunt her down yourself? Why are you not demanding her head?”

“Because I asked for this.” Fergus’ skin was already looking healthier, as Gabriel’s grace warmed him and sheltered him from the winter’s cold. He reached up, cupping Gabriel’s cheek in one hand. “Loki, I _asked_ for her to take my life this year. It’s not her fault that she’s sticking to the terms of our deal,” his mouth twisted, “loosely. I just… I got to see you again. That’s what I really wanted, in the end. And I got to see you _again_ , now.” He gave a little tug to Gabriel’s jaw. “Stay with me tonight? Stay with me until she comes for me?”

“I’ll stay,” Gabriel promised, turning his face to kiss the palm of Fergus’ hand. “I won’t leave you now. Not even for God Himself.”

Once, Gabriel would have defied God and stolen Cariel away to avoid his lieutenant’s death. Now, even that option was stripped from him. If Gabriel left Earth with Fergus, the angels would notice and descend immediately. If he stayed on Earth, Lilith’s hellhounds would find him eventually. No matter how many Gabriel cut down, more would keep coming. They would always keep coming. Hell had enough for an endless wave of the hounds, and Lilith would make sure she got her soul in the end.

“Maybe,” Fergus hedged, watching where his hand touched Gabriel’s lips, “maybe someplace warmer?”

Gabriel folded his arms around Fergus and flew. There was a shack on the beach, once a home to an old fisherman who had passed away long ago. It was enough. They landed, and Gabriel snapped his fingers once to weather-proof the old stone and rotting thatch, then again to clean away the mark of time on the abandoned home. He threw his hand toward the hearth, igniting a fire with his grace, and then looked back at the man.

Fergus stood against the far wall, his arms wrapped around himself, shoulders hunched forward as he watched Gabriel work. “You’re incredible,” he murmured, his dark eyes glittering in the firelight.

“I’m a god,” Gabriel began to answer, but Fergus was shaking his head, cutting him off.

“No, it’s…” The man took a deep breath, letting it out shakily. “It’s the end. Might as well stop with the secrets.”

“Fergus?” Gabriel cocked his head to the side, not understanding.

Fergus took a swig from his bottle and made his way to the bed. Gabriel had replaced the flat straw mattress with a down one like the one he’d conjured up in Fergus’ shop. Fergus gave a little chuckle, sinking down onto the plush softness. “It’s always been you.”

“Been me what?”

“You kept saying I was better than this, that I wasn’t going to go to Hell,” Fergus paused to take another swig from his bottle. It was almost empty, but Gabriel fixed that with another snap of his fingers, earning an appreciative smile from Fergus. “That all I had to do was _not_ do witchcraft, and I’d be fine.”

“You would have been,” Gabriel answered as kindly as he could. He didn’t want to say _I told you so._ Not now. “Whatever prophecy Lilith made about your birth was complete bull-”

“It wasn’t about the prophecy,” Fergus said, chasing his words with another swig of the whisky before pointing the bottleneck at Gabriel. “It was _you_. I was going to Hell because of _you_.”

“Associating with a god doesn’t doom you to Hell,” Gabriel protested, folding his arms across his chest.

“No? How about loving one?” Fergus’ arm holding the bottle dropped, the heavy glass hitting the floor with a _clunk_. “I dreamt about Gabrielle’s name, but it was _your_ body. Your face. Every time she smiled at me? I imagined it was you. Every kiss, every touch, every _fantasy_ … I like _women_ , but you… you wouldn’t get out of my head! I thought if I courted her, you’d stop distracting me. If I courted _any_ girl. She was the only one whose attention I could buy. I thought if I had the chance to kiss her, I’d forget you. I thought if I fucked her, I’d get you out of my mind. I thought if I married her, if she had my child… I thought I could _make_ myself love her.” He gave a laugh that was more of a sob, bending nearly in half, his head brushing against his knees. “It’s always been _you_.”

Gabriel stared at Fergus, his mouth hanging open in surprise. _Him_? Everything with Gabrielle had been because Fergus was trying to ignore _him_?

“You’re a god,” Fergus whispered. “A _man_. It’s not right. It’s not natural. It’s not… it had nothing to do with witchcraft. My soul was damned to Hell the moment it met you. If only you’d been a goddess…”

“Fergus,” Gabriel answered, “Fergus you _fool_. You complete and utter _imbecile_.” He unfolded his arms, taking a step toward Fergus and holding up one finger. “First off, God doesn’t give a shit what you do with your body. As long as you don’t hurt another of His creations, He doesn’t care if you have sex with men, women, fruit trees… He wouldn’t _damn_ you for that.” Gabriel _did_ know that for a fact. The necropolis in the Kingdom of Heaven had some very interesting souls collected. “And secondly, secondly, Fergus, you _moron_ , I’m a _Trickster_!” Gabriel snapped his fingers loudly, drawing a new skin over his own. His hair lengthened and curled, freckles sprouting over his skin. His body rippled, now curving where Loki used to be straight, genitals shifting to match. He was now her. She was _Sorcha_. “I can be _anything_ ,” she stressed, her voice higher than Loki’s, catching Fergus’ attention, “you want!”

Now it was Fergus’ turn to stare open-mouthed at Gabriel, his eyes raking down her body. Gabriel had changed Loki’s sensible shirt and trousers for a linen dress of the kind Sorcha had favored, loose around the shoulders and belted across the waist. She took a step closer to the bed, holding out her arms in invitation. “You’ve always wondered why I stayed with you all those years?”

Fergus nodded dumbly, abandoning his bottle to rise to his feet.

“Because,” Gabriel answered, and Fergus took step toward her, “even gods,” she was closing the distance too, reaching out for Fergus, for _Cariel_ , “ _can fall in love._ ”

The last words were gasped into Fergus’ mouth as he crashed into her, pulling them together. His hands found her hair. Hers were already pushing up his shirt. The bottle of Craig was kicked over as they fell onto the bed, their mouths never separating more than Fergus needed to breathe. Gabriel chased after every electrifying kiss, her grace pushing through Fergus to reignite his tortured soul, feeling him burn against her. And as the world continued to turn beneath them, Gabriel finally, _finally_ let herself fall.


	15. Final Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After an eternity dancing around each other, Gabriel and Cariel finally get to spend a night together.

### Final Night

Fergus was frowning as he watched her, sipping his whisky civilly from a glass now. Gabriel could feel his eyes on her back as she painted wards over the walls of the little shack. “Something wrong?” she asked lightly, running her fingers through the blood pooling on her arm again before returning to her work. “Need something to eat?”

“I have all I need right here,” Fergus answered. “I just don’t like you bleeding so much.”

Gabriel smiled softly over her bare shoulder at the man, her eyes catching his across the tiny room. “Fergus, I don’t need blood the same way you do. This barely even twinges. It looks a mess, but I assure you, I’m fine.”

“Just hurry up and finish so you can come back here.”

How could Gabriel refuse that? She sketched the last few words over the door and snapped her fingers, instantly removing all of the blood from her skin and sealing the gash down her arm as if it had never been cut. Fergus’ smile was a tangible caress as she turned and slid back into his arms, pressing their bodies together. “I love you,” she murmured against his lips, tasting the whisky and herself in the kiss. “I always have, and I always will.”

“I can’t believe I could have had you all these years if I had only just _said_ something,” Fergus whispered back, letting Gabriel take his glass and set it aside before pushing him back down on the bed. “I’m sorry I was an idiot. I’m sorry I took so long. I’m sorry I’mmf-”

Gabriel cut off Fergus’ apologies with another kiss, shaking her head over him. “What’s done is done,” she sighed. “Now shut up and love me before I lose you.”

The next time they broke apart, a sated Fergus cuddled against Gabriel’s side as she sat against the pillows. She combed her fingers through his damp hair, and he rubbed his thumb absently over her nipple. Gabriel tried to focus on that sensation, on the feeling of Fergus just _being_ with her. Once tomorrow came, these memories would be all she had left.

Gabriel leaned down to press a kiss to Fergus’ forehead. He smiled, tipping his face up to catch her lips with his own. Their mouths played lazily together, most of their initial urgency burned off in their previous marathons of sex.

“So,” Fergus asked, when he finally drew back from the languid kiss, “what was the fingerpainting for?” He drew her left arm toward his mouth, dotting kisses along the inside of her wrist where Gabriel had slashed it open earlier.

“Insurance against further cheating from Lilith.” Gabriel sighed, closing her eyes and resting her forehead against Fergus’ shoulder. “Protection against hellhounds. As long as those wards hold, they won’t be able to get in.”

Fergus was quiet, looking up from Gabriel to take in the bloody wards covering the walls.

“They’ll hold,” Gabriel murmured, tipping her head against Fergus’. “I made them. They’ll hold.”

“How long?”

“Indefinitely. Theoretically.” Gabriel wiggled down further in the bed, pulling the blankets over her head as if to protect herself from the cold. Fergus followed her lead, reaching for her under the covers and tugging her close. He settled her head on his shoulder, playing with her frizzy curls. “The hounds will come at sunset tomorrow—today now. They’ll start battering the wards immediately, but the wards will hold.” Archangel blood and Enochian words made the wards among the strongest in existence. The hellhounds could throw themselves at the defenses for centuries without ever opening up even a crack. “Lilith already proved that she can command you through my wards, though. She owns your soul. If she commands you again, if _you_ damage the wards from the inside...” The angel shrugged helplessly, curling her arms around Fergus’ waist. “I can protect you from the hounds, but that will be the entirety of your life. You can never leave this place. Once they start coming, they will never stop.” Gabriel closed her eyes, hiding her face against Fergus’ chest. His heart was beating steadily beneath her cheek, reassuring her that he was still alive, at least for now.

“What’s going to happen to me when they come?” Fergus’ voice rumbled in his chest beneath Gabriel’s ear. Gabriel shook her head, not wanting to talk about it. _You’re going to die, that’s what will happen!_

Fergus wanted to know, though, and Gabriel couldn’t deny the man anything on his final day. “You’ll be able to see them as they break through the door, the windows. You’ll be piercing the veil between life and death, so demons, angels, hellhounds, nothing can hide their true visage from you. They’ll come in with a bang, snarling and slobbering all over the place. Their claws will score the floor, and their breath will poison the air: that’s before they attack. Hellhounds aren’t bred for mercy. They’ll leap at you, rend you with their fangs and claws until you’re nothing more than a bloody pile of meat on the floor, but you’ll still be alive. You’ll be begging for the mercy of death...but the hellhounds are only the initiation rite for the true tortures of Hell.” Gabriel swallowed thickly, clutching at Fergus as she shivered. “Hell is... Hell.”

“Wow,” Fergus said, managing a very shaky laugh. “Maybe I should have asked what a soul contact meant before signing up.”

“Idiot,” Gabriel mumbled, her head now closer to Fergus’ belly as she kept sinking further beneath the blankets in an attempt to block out the world. “You realize I’ll have to watch, knowing I can’t save you?”

“Don’t watch,” Fergus immediately protested, lifting the blankets to look down at Gabriel. “Please, Loki. I don’t want that to be your last memory of me.”

“I’m not going to let you die alone,” Gabriel countered, lifting her head to look back at Fergus. “Not in so much pain. I can...” She swallowed again, blinking away sudden tears. “I can do it. Kill you. When we can’t hold off Lilith any longer.”

“When the hounds come,” Fergus corrected quietly. “I don’t want you to have to fight them. When they come, you can,” he hesitated over the words, “you can kill me. Please kill me.”

“Fergus...” Gabriel leaned up to kiss him again, pulling him close beneath the blankets.

_I don’t want to lose you, don’t want to let you go..._

Fergus rolled them over without breaking the kiss, his hands skimming down Gabriel’s body.

_Don’t leave me, don’t leave me alone..._

Gabriel hooked her leg around Fergus’, rolling her hips up to meet his.

_I want to keep you close..._

She spread her legs, welcoming Fergus back into her body.

_Why?_ Why did Gabriel have to lose him?

_Again!_

Gabriel bit back a cry that had nothing to do with Fergus’ touch, squeezing her eyes closed. Fergus would be killed in Hell, shredded by Azazel and Alastair. If his soul was reborn—as a demon, if it were at all—it wouldn’t be the same. He would be a monster, a creature of Lucifer, no longer her Fergus, no longer her Cariel.

_Please, Father, let me save his soul,_ Gabriel prayed. _Let me save a **piece** of his soul!_

If even a part of Cariel could survive, unmolested by the fallen angels in Hell, then Gabriel could rest somewhat easier. Even if it meant Gabriel would never see him again, she could at least know that he wasn’t _destroyed_.

“I wish I could have had a son with you,” Fergus whispered against her neck.

If even a piece survived.

“He’d be a demigod, with all of your awesomeness.”

Even a _piece_.

“I could love a son like that.”

Gabriel stared down her body at Fergus, her eyes wide.

_A child!_

Lucifer had told her once how to create a Nephilim, a child born of a human and an angel. You needed two participants, one male, one female, and the angel simply had to _want_ to create a child.

A child could house a piece of Fergus’ soul mixed with a fragment of Gabriel’s grace. It would ensure that Fergus would endure, that Cariel would still live on in a new generation.

“You’d just love him because he would be godly,” Gabriel murmured, pulling Fergus up for another kiss. “I see right through you, Fergus MacLeod.” And Fergus just laughed.


	16. Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are certain things you should never do, such as piss off an Archangel…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Character death, but let's face it, we all knew it was coming...

### Death

The sun was setting. Gabriel stared out the window, her fingers stroking idly over her flat belly. There was a new spark inside her, the proto-soul of a freshly conceived child. She could already feel the patterns of Fergus’ soul imprinted on this virgin soul, this Nephilim.

Nephilim were not inherently evil. Lucifer and Hell had made them evil. _Hers_ wouldn’t be.

She wondered how many times she’d have to repeat that to herself before she could believe it.

A hellhound sat on the beach a hundred feet away from the door, a greasy smear in the darkness of the night. Forged in her own flames, it was just barely visible to the Archangel. Gabriel frowned at the monster and turned her back on it. Her child would not be a monster. _Fergus’_ child would not be a monster. It wouldn’t. She wouldn’t allow it.

Speaking of Fergus, the man was stretching behind her, groaning in appreciation as he worked out the kinks from a day in bed. He turned a grin on her, one that quickly dropped into an expression of shock, one arm stretched up and bent at the elbow, his hand behind his head. “ _Wow_.”

“Fergus?”

“Is that...? You’re glowing! Is that what you really look like?”

Gabriel glanced down at her own body, seeing nothing different. “I don’t... _oh_.” Fergus’ time of death was approaching fast. He was looking through the veil, able to see Gabriel’s iridescent grace. “I suppose it is.”

“May I…?” Fergus approached slowly, reaching his hands out toward her. Gabriel stayed where she was, letting Fergus touch. He smoothed his fingers over the edges of her grace, tracing the lines and ripples of the power that had always sustained her. His touch ghosted up, around her back to the swell of her folded wings. “What’s this?”

 _Wings._ Gabriel couldn’t answer that honestly even now. “My magic.” Fergus was going to burn on Azazel’s rack in a few hours. Gabriel couldn’t give the demons her identity, her _face_. Not now. She had a baby to protect. “I can’t feel that, you know.”

“Can you feel this?” Fergus asked, pulling his hands up to cover her shoulder blades.

“No, can’t feel that…” Gabriel smiled innocently at Fergus. 

“How about this?” His fingers slide around her arms, curling loosely around her biceps.

“Still nothing…”

“This?” Fergus leaned in to brush his lips over Gabriel’s.

“ _That_ , I feel.”

Fergus drew his hands up, burying them deep in Gabriel’s hair. Gabriel gripped Fergus’ shoulders, guiding him back toward the bed. He grinned, nipping at her mouth, letting her lead him.

Outside, the hellhound howled.

Fergus stiffened, and not in the pleasurable way. “Is that… it’s time.” He closed his eyes, his body tense before Gabriel. “Time for you to kill me.”

Gabriel shushed him, nudging him toward the bed. “Not now,” she whispered, pecking little kisses over his face. “Not yet. Not _yet_.”

The man relaxed, and Gabriel curled her arms around his back, leaning him down toward the bed. She sought out his mouth again with hers, one final, lingering kiss…

…as she _pushed_ , slicing her grace through his soul as hard and fast as she could, ripping it from his body, killing him instantly, painlessly, before he could even realize he had been attacked. Fergus fell limp in her arms, and Gabriel laid him gently on the bed.

“Now.”

The angel dressed manually, mechanically, lacing her clothes up and stepping into her soft leather boots. She picked up Fergus’ clothes and dressed him as well, taking the time to touch every inch of his body one last time, her fingers memorizing his skin. She brushed them over Fergus’ eyes, closing them, and leaned in to touch her lips to his in one final, gentle kiss. “You asked me to,” she whispered against his mouth. “You asked me to!”

If this were a story, she would cry now. One perfect, angelic tear to fall on Fergus’ cheek and reawaken him as her lieutenant, her beloved Cariel.

She didn’t. As Gabriel straightened up, she waved her hand dismissively at the blood wards. They instantly faded, breaking the spells of protection woven over the house. Three smears of hellhounds rushed in, shattering the windows and splintering the door.

“Where is your mistress?” Gabriel asked, spreading her wings wide as she unsheathed her sword. “Send her a message for me.” She shoved off, one slice of her blade, then two three with her fiery wings. The three shadows broke apart into six pieces, every hound dead.

“Tell her I’m coming.”

The angel sheathed her sword again and stepped out into the snow. There were a couple of other places she needed to stop at before tracking Lilith to Hell, where the demon was almost certainly cowering.

The first stop was the manse where Father Innes still lived. Gabriel entered his parlor as calmly as if she owned the place. Innes shoved his chair back, hastily getting to his feet, but Gabriel simply set her hand, palm down, on his desk. “Fergus MacLeod is in the little fisherman’s shack on the beach,” she told the priest. “See that he gets a proper burial. In the churchyard.” She lifted her hand, revealing a small pile of gold coins, more than enough to pay for Fergus’ internment.

“I… how… who… ?”

Gabriel avoided answering by turning on her heel and taking to her wings. This flight was a short one, several miles only, landing her just outside the MacLeod’s cottage. Huddled against the door, chained to the wall, was a familiar little dog. Gabriel crouched down, running her hand over Thorn’s side and brushing away the snow from his coat. “You’ve outlived your natural life several times over, little pup.”

Thorn wagged his tail and licked Gabriel’s hand, wriggling into the warmth emanating from her body. He was an old dog now, twenty-five years old if he was a day, but he looked no older than the four years he’d been when he first died. Fergus had really done a number on him when he brought the dog back to life. Was Thorn immortal now? Gabriel wasn’t sure.

She did know that she liked Thorn, for all the role he played in Fergus’ corruption. Thorn had been her friend as much as he’d been Fergus’, and she had missed the dog’s simple companionship. A stroke of her fingers over the chain around his neck freed him, and Gabriel beckoned with two fingers for him to follow her.

The angel flung the cottage door open with more force than was necessary, relishing in how it banged against the far wall and made both inhabitants jump. Issobell was sitting near a candle, sewing, while Brody sat in his chair by the fire with a book. Brody was the first to rise, a friendly smile on his face covering less honorable thoughts. Gabriel was not blind to how Brody’s eyes raked over her female body.

“Why hello there, traveler. Lost?”

“You don’t recognize me?” Gabriel asked, cocking her head to the side. “I’m hurt. After all these years together, Brody, I thought for sure you’d know a god when you saw one.”

“A… god?” Brody drew back, confused. “Wait… _Loki_?”

“Hello.” Gabriel wiggled her fingers at Brody in a little wave. “Miss me?”

Issobell looked between her brother and the angel, slowly setting her project aside. “Loki, welcome back! It’s been… God, years? You look… different?”

“As if you ever paid attention.” Gabriel rolled her head to the side to look sardonically at the woman. “Your son is dead, Issobell. Does that make you sad? Or will you celebrate?”

“Fergus is dead?” Brody repeated. “When? How!?”

“How do witches usually die?” Gabriel asked. “He sold his soul to your mistress, and she came to collect.”

“That’s… too bad.” Brody was slowly backing away from Gabriel, flinching when she turned her head to look directly at him.

“It really, really is,” Gabriel answered. “Because I’ve hated the two of you ever since I first laid eyes on your rotted, corrupted souls. His love for you was the only reason I haven’t come for you sooner.” Her sword slid into her hand easily, and with a wave of her other hand, the door swung shut behind her.


	17. Mercy and Dignity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel wants revenge on everyone who has ever hurt her Fergus.

### Mercy and Dignity

Gabriel left the MacLeod cottage on fire for no real reason other than she could. She had wanted to burn Brody’s collection of dark grimoires, and she didn’t care if the fire spread easily to the dry straw mattress or the two corpses she left in her wake. She simply gathered Thorn up in her arms and spread her wings again.

Gabrielle MacLeod was in Dundee, in the house she and Fergus had graduated to once he gave up avoiding witchcraft. She was wearing a green satin dress that had to have been expensive. Mostly wearing. A man who was certainly not her husband was standing behind her in her bedroom, helping her out of the clothing. Gabriel materialized behind them silently, but Thorn wiggled against her chest and gave a couple yipping barks.

Both Gabrielle and her suitor whirled around, with Gabrielle clutching at the neck of her dress and the man—Gavin Stout, Gabriel recognized, one of Fergus’ childhood tormentors—curling his hand into a fist. Gabriel stared blankly through the man as she did what she had wanted to do for decades now, ramming her sword through his belly and slicing up.

Gavin crumpled to the floor as Gabrielle screamed, stumbling away from the angel. Gabriel stooped down to set Thorn on his feet, then stepped over Gavin’s body toward the woman. “Do not be afraid,” she intoned, remembering another young woman she had once born a message to.

Mary would have been ashamed at the lack of spine Gabrielle was showing. She would have slapped Gabriel twice over by now, and attempted to steal her sword to boot.

“I come with glad tidings.”

“You killed him!” Gabrielle pointed a trembling finger at Gavin. “You… you killed him! You monster!”

Gabriel looked down at the corpse. “They were not glad tidings for him.”

“Did Fergus send you?” Gabrielle’s back was pressed into a corner, and she was sinking down slowly, trying to press her way as far back as she could. Her hands scrabbled against the wall behind her. “Are you a demon?”

“I am not a demon, and Fergus did not send me.” Gabriel slowly stalked toward Gabrielle, her sword still in hand. “Fergus is dead. Congratulations, you are free of him.”

Gabrielle looked from Gabriel to Gavin, pressing her hands over her mouth. “You… did you kill Fergus?”

Gabriel couldn’t bring herself to say yes, no matter how true it was. She simply loomed over Gabrielle, placing her left hand on the wall and lifting her sword to touch the point over Gabrielle’s heart. The woman sucked in a breath, about to start screaming again, and Gabriel shoved forward, cutting the sound off before it could grow. Blood bubbled over Gabriel’s fingers, and Gabrielle’s arms fluttered to the floor.

This was the work of an avenging angel, one of Raphael’s elite warriors. They hunted the unjust, the corrupted, the evil, and they killed swiftly, without fanfare. Gabriel had never considered herself one of the avengers, but as she slowly straightened, withdrawing her sword from Gabrielle’s chest, she realized it was true. Every person who had corrupted Fergus, every person who had driven him into Lilith’s embrace, would die.

Every but one. Gabriel could not kill herself. She was carrying Fergus’ child now. She _couldn’t_ kill herself.

“Stay,” the angel snapped to Thorn as she turned away from Gabrielle. The dog whined, sitting down instinctively at her tone. Gabriel softened minutely and glanced down at the little terrier. “I _will_ return for you. There are two more I have to take care of first.”

Thorn seemed to understand, lowering himself further until he was stretched out on the floor, an attentive reclining position. He would wait for the angel. Gabriel gave him a nod and spread her wings again.

Gavin MacLeod lived a few streets away from his parents, in a tiny set of rooms lit by a frugal amount of candles. He sat on his bed, his young wife cradled in his arms. One of his hands stroked through her hair, while the other rested possessively on the swell of her belly. His wife was reading aloud from a book, resting against his chest. Gabriel entered the room invisibly, studying the scene.

The woman’s voice was gentle and soothing, but she kept being distracted by the words she read to turn a soft smile up to Gavin. Every time she did so, Gavin smiled back, pressing a kiss to her temple. It was… sweet. Almost sickeningly so. The love between these two was palpable, filling the small room, and Gabriel hesitated.

Gavin had not corrupted Fergus. Gavin had been corrupted _by_ Fergus and Gabrielle. Though his creation had driven them together, the boy himself had been innocent. His parents’ constant fighting had poisoned his soul at an entirely young age, tearing great rents into the fabric of his being, but he himself had not sought to hurt Fergus. Not at first, at least. Once he did start to strike out at his parents intentionally, he was doing so in reaction to the pain they had inflicted upon him. He was, in a twisted way, innocent.

Looking at the man now, Gabriel could hardly believe he was the same malicious boy she had known twenty years ago. The craters in Gavin’s soul were filling over, and the cuts were beginning to heal. His soul glowed again, the peaceful, _warm_ glow of a good man and not the cold burn of an evil heart.

Gabriel turned her eyes to the woman Gavin held, the sweet little girl she had once stabbed with Cupid’s arrow to destine her for Gavin’s love. _Her_ soul was just as bright and rich as it had been the day Gabriel first noticed her, if not more so. It was strong in its goodness, untarnished by the constant presence of Gavin in her life. _She_ was healing _him_. She was redeeming Gabriel’s bloodline.

Gabriel sheathed her sword and approached the pair, still invisible. She touched two fingers to each forehead, closing her eyes and murmuring a blessing to both husband and wife. “Almighty Father, take these two, and all their children, into Your arms. Hold them close in Your love, and shower them in Your infinite mercy.” She knew God was no longer in Heaven, but that didn’t mean He didn’t listen. “Look mercifully upon them with Your favor, so long as they walk in Your ways all the days of their lives.” Drawing forth her grace, Gabriel pressed a feather’s worth into both of their souls, and an extra touch into that of the unborn child’s, sealing the blessing into their person even without God’s assistance. “Amen.”

Gavin’s wife gave a little shiver as Gabriel drew her hands back, twisting in Gavin’s arms to look up at him. He leaned down, brushing his lips over hers. “I love you,” they whispered together, and Gabriel spread her wings again.

The angel didn’t fly far. Back in Fergus and Gabrielle’s home, Gabriel swept out her hands and grace to clear space in the cellar. Upstairs, she heard Thorn give a bark, his nails clicking against the wooden floors. “Stay!” she shouted at him, waiting until the dog stopped moving before continuing her next step.

Even after Lucifer’s banishment, Hell had continued to grow and expand. Without his wards keeping it locked down and secret, Hell now flowed parallel to Earth across almost the entire expanse of the planet. There were six defined “gates” scattered throughout the world, if you knew what to look for, but it was much easier for an angel as powerful as Gabriel to simply summon up a bolt of her grace and hurl it at the border between this realm and the underworld to create her own door.

The earthen floor fell away at her feet, crumbling into a pit that glowed with an unearthly fire, fire that Gabriel herself had ignited centuries ago. Her grace-born flames would not die easily, and the demons had clearly been caring for the hellish inferno well, nurturing it into the burning furnace the underworld had become infamous for. Gabriel held her arms out from her sides and let herself fall forward. The heat roared around her, embracing its creator. It did not burn her. It never could. 

The jagged hooks and living chains that wrapped Lucifer’s realm _could_ hurt. These were what the original roots anchoring the worlds together had grown into, a writhing, feasting mass of bone and metal and sulfur. Gabriel snapped out her wings as she approached the realm’s defense, twisting and twirling in her fall to avoid the sharp roots that sought to catch at her flesh and rip her spirit from her body. She smiled fiercely as she flew, pushing her wings to the limits to navigate the harsh maze. _This_ was the sort of flying she had been designed for. None of that endurance or speed stuff Raphael had always preferred. Gabriel was meant for twisty bends and tight corners.

Souls of less fortunate visitors to Hell reached out for the angel as she fell past them, trying to snag her wings and drag her onto the hooks along with them or use her momentum to pull themselves out. The chains had even managed to snag some less-fortunate demons who howled and spat at her as she passed. Gabriel ignored them all, evading each corrupting touch. She wasn’t here for them.

Past the chains, Hell opened up beneath Gabriel, and she spread her wings fully, gliding above the underworld. It really _had_ changed since she was last here. No longer simply an extended cavern, Hell was now much more like a bustling metropolis, a thousand times larger than Berlin, Edo, or Paris. There were actual _buildings_ down here, buildings and roads, and bustling demons running around with enslaved souls. Very few bothered to look up. Not much actually flew in the dry heat of Hell. The demons trusted their blanket of root-chains too much to wonder if an attack could come from above.

All the better for Gabriel. The angel turned her wings toward the largest building, a grand monstrosity that could not be mistaken for anything but a palace. Surely the Queen of Hell ruled from that place. She soared through the super-heated air, moving quieter than a whisper.

Once on the rooftop, Gabriel pulled her grace in tightly—she had been holding it much looser than she was accustomed to ever since blessing Gavin and his wife—and veiled herself from view. It was all too easy to burn the life out of any demons she passed with just a touch of her fingers. Her stealth was not for them.

It was for Lilith.

“Does a god have a soul?” Gabriel honed in on the sound of Lilith’s agitated voice, absently burning out another demon as she stalked down the opulent hall decorated with stolen treasures from humanity. “Because if they do, I want Loki’s.”

“Tricked by the Trickster?”

Gabriel paused momentarily, canting her head to the side at the new voice. She knew that voice. _Azazel._ That was a demon she had been hoping to avoid.

“He _killed_ that fallen angel!” Lilith again, hurling what sounded like a cup against the wall. “ _I_ wanted that kill!”

“You still collected the soul.” Azazel was much less upset than Lilith. “Be grateful the kill was all he stole from you. Loki’s still considered one of the great ones. Don’t look like that. You know as well as I what power the belief of humanity can create.”

“He’s still just a god. I _will_ find a way to drag him down here.”

“And I will enjoy watching you try.”

Gabriel had killed enough demons outside of their meatsuits in the last five minutes to know what they looked like. She snapped her fingers, recreating the likeness of the last one she had killed, making a puppet-demon like she did with humans sometimes. With a little wave of her fingers, she sent it walking toward the door of the room Lilith and Azazel were in. It knocked. The two most powerful demons fell silent.

“Enter!” Lilith snapped.

Gabriel’s demon pushed the door open, cringing pathetically as it peered in at the real demons. “Er… Alastair says… er…”

“He’s broken the fallen one already?” Azazel still held an angelic aura, twisted and ruined as it was. There was something still familiar in his face, aside from those sickly yellow eyes and that smile Gabriel would never be able to forget. “We know who he is?”

“He says you should come and see this for yourself. Um.”

Lilith scoffed and gave a toss of her head, waving Azazel toward the door. “Go. Find out which of your brothers was stupid enough to trust me.”

“As you wish, my queen.” Azazel gave Lilith a little bow ( _mocking,_ Gabriel read in the body language of the angels, _insincere, scornful._ ). The fallen angel turned away and swept out the door, just after Gabriel took advantage of the opening to slip inside.

Azazel paused just outside, looking back with a frown, and Gabriel swung her hand toward the door, slamming it in his face.

“Lilith!”

The female demon grabbed a spear from the wall, turning on the room with a snarl. “Show yourself!”

Azazel was pounding on the door, snarling and spitting curses at it, but Gabriel sealed it with a brush of her grace. Still holding the rest of her grace in check, she dropped her physical veil to let Lilith recognize her. That spear could wreak havoc on a demon, but it wouldn’t dent an angel. “Hello, Lilith. I hear you wanted to see me?”

“Loki!” Lilith spat, brandishing the spear. “You stole my kill!”

“I gave Fergus a dignified death, one he wouldn’t have had at the claws of your monsters,” Gabriel countered, her head tipping to the side as she studied Lilith. This creature standing before her was a demon. A _demon_. There were a few similarities between Lilith and how she had looked in life—how Gabriel looked now—but not very many.

None Lilith recognized.

 _You aren’t my Sorcha._ The woman Gabriel had adored, all those years ago, was dead and gone. There was nothing left in this twisted, mutilated wreck of a creature. Gabriel had always known becoming a demon ruined a soul, but she had never believed it.

Not until now.

 _He will never be my Fergus again._ Sadness swelled within Gabriel’s spirit, sadness that ignited into fury as soon as it touched the fire of her grace. Lilith had devoured Sorcha, and now she sought to devour Fergus as well. Cariel. They were one and the same and they were _both_ dead, because of this demon.

Gabriel’s eyes glittered dangerously as her sword slid into her hand. “I am not,” she began slowly, “going to make this quick.”

Lilith’s eyes fell to the sword, then over to the door. Azazel had stopped pounding on it. He wasn’t breaking through that way.

“If you want to live?” Gabriel took a few practice swings and spread her wings. “ _Run_.”


	18. Grace Under Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before Azazel could free Lucifer, he first had to free Lilith… but who locked _her_ away?

### Grace Under Fire

Lilith _did_ run. She threw her spear aside and leapt for the window, racing through Hell as fast as her legs could carry her. Gabriel gave chase on foot, not resorting to the advantage of her wings, not yet. She wanted to draw out Lilith’s suffering, to make her feel the terror of knowing that she was being hunted by something far more powerful. To make her _know_ she was being toyed with, that at any moment Gabriel could spring and crush her, and the only reason she wasn’t already dead was because she was far more entertaining alive.

Gabriel wanted Lilith to _suffer_. Perhaps it wasn’t a very angelic feeling, but Gabriel didn’t give a damn. She was far from angelic right now, hiding from Heaven in the body of a god, carrying a Nephilim inside her. There were worse things she could do than hunt a single demon through Hell.

Lilith ran for the closest gate out of Hell, but Gabriel swept around her before she could escape, wings and sword slicing through the foundations of the gateposts. The gates were impressive, but they were not built by Lucifer and not enforced by grace. It was the work of seconds for Gabriel to bring the entire exit crashing down into an impassable pile of rubble.

The demon screamed and twisted around, heading for the second gate. Again, Gabriel chased, and again, Gabriel tore the gate down before she could escape.

Five gates of Hell fell to the angel’s fury, and all of Hell was up in arms against her. It was easy enough to keep the unholy creatures away from the chase—the very fires of Hell were Gabriel’s creations. The demons had nurtured them all these years, but Gabriel was their mother, and they answered her call. Even the monsters who lived among them were not immune to the flames. Everywhere Gabriel chased Lilith, the raging inferno of the Pit cleansed the way.

Lilith grabbed the sixth and final gates of Hell, the last one standing, now the only easy exit to the realm. She started to pull the gates open, but Gabriel slammed into her from behind, driving the massive iron doors shut and pinning the demon against them by her neck with one hand. “You try, and you try, and you fail every time.”

“I ran!” Lilith squirmed in Gabriel’s grip, managing to twist around to face her captor. “I _ran_!” she screeched at the angel. “You can’t kill me; I did as you said!”

No matter how furious at this demon she was, Gabriel hadn’t been about to lose control and kill Lilith. Lilith was still a seal to the cage, after all. She had to live.

Gabriel hadn’t been above the idea of torture.

“You did run,” Gabriel purred, pressing the flat of her blade against Lilith’s cheek. The demon’s already-damaged flesh blistered under the touch of the holy metal, and Lilith cried out, trying to pull away. “You ran like a scared little child. You ran from a _god_.” _From an angel._

Behind Gabriel, her fires raged, incinerating a wave of demons who had tried to run to their mistress’ aid. Gabriel ignored their cries, focusing on Lilith alone. “Tell me, Lilith, Queen of the Damned, could you kill me?”

Lilith jerked futilely against Gabriel’s hold. “I could try!” she spat at the angel’s face.

Gabriel laughed, cold and sharp. “But would you succeed?” When Lilith didn’t answer, Gabriel growled and yanked the demon up higher, lifting her feet off the ground, shoving her back against the unforgiving metal of the gates. “ _Would you_!?”

“…no…”

The angel smiled. “Say that again.”

“No.”

“No?” 

“No, I can’t kill you!” Lilith’s eyes were screwed shut, her face a grimace of disgust.

Gabriel dropped her, curling her wings around so Lilith couldn’t escape. “I’ll spare your life,” she announced, as if it were a sudden decision and not the plan from the start. She leaned in close to Lilith, hissing into the demon’s ear. “ _Because I can._ Don’t doubt for one minute, don’t _ever_ forget, that I am not sparing your life because _I_ can’t kill _you_. I spare you because I _can_.”

Lilith flinched at the words, more visibly affected by the knowledge of her loss than by the physical pain of Gabriel’s sword. The angel took one step back and tipped her head to the side, studying the defeated demon. She couldn’t kill Lilith, but she’d be damned if she let the demon go just like this. Lilith could easily hide her defeat, melt back into her kingdom of the dead as if nothing had happened. There were no witnesses, no one to see her crumpled against the closed gates of Hell.

But there could be.

Gabriel reached for the gates, shoving her grace into her hands to melt the iron. She grabbed fistfuls of liquid metal and pulled it forward, wrapping the gates themselves around Lilith. The demon screamed, thrashing against the metal, but it cooled quickly once Gabriel let go. The iron hardened around Lilith, shackling her to the gates. Lilith panted, clearly in pain, but Gabriel wasn’t done yet. She spread all of her wings, invisible to demonic eyes, and slammed them forward, covering the entire gate in her flaming grace all at once. The entire front of the gate melted and slid together. Lilith’s screech rose above the roaring of the fire behind Gabriel, but then it died out as the demon fell unconscious. The metal gates solidified as Gabriel removed her wings, forming one unbroken sheet of iron, with Lilith trapped in the middle, her lower body completely swallowed by the iron. 

The gates could not be opened from this side.

Perhaps, _if_ someone found the Earthly side of the gate (and Gabriel knew the true coordinates were kept secret even from other demons, using magic to teleport travelers away from the actual entrance), and _if_ that someone knew the right words to say, and _if_ they had enough strength, they might actually be able to pull the gates open from the other side, from Earth. _If_ all of that happened, then yes, maybe, _maybe_ Lilith could be broken free and demons could flood the earth once more.

Gabriel took another step back, surveying her handiwork. Lilith was slumped against the locked gate, a testament to the rage of the gods. All six gates of Hell were impassible. The only way out was up, up through the net of root-chains, the living hooks that tried to grab and rip at spirit and souls. Gabriel could fly through the maze, but the demons trapped there already testified to how impassible it was otherwise.

“Good,” Gabriel whispered to herself, turning away from Lilith. She looked off to the left, to the direction she knew the Pit was in. Fergus would be there. Maybe even already strapped to a rack, his soul laid bare for Alastair, for Azazel…

 _Azazel._ Where was he? He had been with Lilith at the start, but now?

Gabriel stretched out her grace, expanding it through Hell. Demons groaned and quailed as it brushed over them, but Gabriel ignored them. It felt _good_ to release her tight hold. She hadn’t been able to stretch, to really _stretch_ , since she left Heaven. She didn’t dare do this on Earth, where an angel could watch, but it was harder to see through all of the realms and into Hell.

Azazel, now, Azazel was… in the Pit. She brushed her grace over him, feeling him shudder beneath her touch, his yellow eyes searching for the assailant. He was armed and standing near Alastair, both flanking a new soul on a rack: Fergus. They were guarding Fergus. Gabriel closed her eyes, caressing her grace over Fergus’ soul. Bound like this, unfiltered by a body, he was weak, vulnerable. He flinched from her touch, whimpering, his chin sagging against his chest. Gabriel withdrew her grace immediately, remembering. Sorcha had screamed when Gabriel touched her, before Lucifer had fully corrupted her. Just the act of falling to Hell alone was enough to make an angel’s purity unbearable. Even if Gabriel wanted to take out Azazel and Alastair, Fergus would never be able to return with her. He was gone. Lost.

Gabriel turned away, unfurling her wings and taking flight. She left her fallen brothers behind and released her hold on the fires of Hell. She needed to get back to Earth, needed fresh air and light and something. Warmth. Not this oppressive heat, but _warmth_. Thorn. She wanted Thorn.

The hole Gabriel had made in the cellar of Gabrielle’s home was still open, and Gabriel checked her speed as she flew through it. She landed gently on the dirt floor and gathered her grace around her. One more wave of her hand sealed the unofficial Hell gate, and then she could go upstairs, her step heavy.

Thorn was waiting for her in the parlor, his tail wagging. He sat up as soon as he saw her, giving a woof of greeting. Gabriel smiled weakly, sinking to her knees and holding out her arms. The little dog ran to her, leaping up to put his paws on her shoulders and covering her face in doggy kisses.

“Good boy, Thorn,” Gabriel murmured, rubbing her hands through his fur. “Good boy. Come with me? Come with me. Let’s get out of here. Let’s find someplace with some sun.” She gathered the dog against her chest and stood, turning toward the front door.

An old man stood in the open doorway. His back was curved from a hunch, but he was now standing as straight as his body would allow. His eyes were a milky blue, clouded over from cataracts, but he was staring directly at Gabriel. His face was lined from laughter and frowns, but his expression was perfectly emotionless. He was completely still, but there was a sense of great _potential_ surrounding his ancient body, like that of a giant cat preparing to pounce.

 _Angel_.


	19. Cariel's Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is not _exactly_ a chapter of _Rogue_ , but it is a little break from Gabriel’s action as we check in with an old friend who’s in a bit of a tight spot…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cariel's Interlude marks the exact half-way point of Rogue! I think this is a good time to thank everyone who's been leaving me kudos and reviews. I really love knowing that people are enjoying my stories! Thank you!

### Cariel’s Interlude

_Pain._ Pain, pure and simple, white-hot, lancing through every inch of his spirit, was the first thing Cariel registered and the last thing he remembered. Falling _hurt_. He had suspected as much from watching his brothers who fell, but no amount of hearing their screams could have prepared him for the agony of trying to tear his own grace out from his spirit. He hadn’t even been able to allow himself to fade into blissful unconsciousness as he plummeted from Heaven. He needed to steer himself, to guide his burning wings even as they failed him. He _needed_ to crash into one of Gabriel’s vessels.

Had he succeeded? Cariel kept his eyes shut tightly against this new pain, prodding gingerly at memories he didn’t remember. He had been born a boy named Fergus, to a witch? Yes, a witch. Demons had been poisoning Gabriel’s bloodline. Raphael had been allowing it. A witch mother was appropriate, then. And there had been… been a god? And a little white dog? And Gabrielle… he had married a woman named _Gabrielle_? A startled laugh burst out of Cariel’s mouth, and he shook his head weakly at his own patheticness.

“You’re awake, brother? _Good_. Now the fun can really begin.”

The oily voice poured into Cariel’s mind, forcing its way into his awareness, sparking old memories of a younger brother, a wily Seraph with grasping fingers and a semi-permanent sneer.

“Missed you too, Alastair,” Cariel attempted to purr through a ruined throat. The words came out with a rasp as the fallen angel opened his eyes and lifted his head.

“So you _remember_!” Alastair grinned in delight through his mangled face, running one claw down Cariel’s cheek and drawing blood. Blood? How could Cariel be bleeding? He was just a disembodied soul now…

 _Hell’s logic,_ he decided. _Don’t try to understand, just accept._ He closed his eyes for a moment to focus himself. This was the most important persuasion he would ever do, bar none. The tortures of a rack of Hell could strip memories and humanity away from a soul, even one that was a fallen angel. From what little Cariel had seen of the original double-fallen angels, the Knights of Hell, none of them remembered their true origins in Heaven. Azazel still held on to his memories, though, and apparently, so too did Alastair. Cariel could not afford to forget what he still had. He had a _mission_ , one he could not complete if he was a mindless demonic minion with no past.

_Become a demon._

_Find Gabriel._

The mission needed to be simple so he could hold onto it even as he lived as a human. It had been primary importance that his human self fall again. No human could live forever on Earth alongside an angel. No angel could have escaped Heaven without being hunted down. But a demon… a demon had immortality. A demon was ignored by the Host and power of their own. A demon could find a rogue angel and twine their lives together.

If the demon remembered.

Cariel opened his eyes again and smiled through the pain that rippled through his body, smirking into Alastair’s eyes. “I want to join you.”

“Join us?” Alastair chuckled, drawing another stripe down Cariel’s cheek before turning away toward a little table full of unfamiliar objects. Cariel didn’t need to identify them to know what they were used for. They were all spiky or curved or sharp, glittering in the constant fires of Hell. If Cariel wasn’t careful, he’d find himself very intimately acquainted with all of Alastair’s tools. “Now why would I want you to do that?”

“Because you need me.” Cariel pulled lightly at the chains around his wrists, testing his bonds. They didn’t budge, but they did clink together, drawing Alastair’s attention again. “Hell’s a _mess_. You need another demon with a brain helping you run things down here.”

“You _want_ to be a demon?” Cariel grunted as Alastair drove a white-hot iron rod through his stomach. It wouldn’t kill him, but that didn’t mean it didn’t make his body burn in agony. “Why the Hell would a good little angel like you want to sully your wings?”

“Maybe because I’m _not_ a good little angel?” Cariel groaned as Alastair slowly withdrew the rod, his head falling back against the rack behind him. “Ran away from Heaven, Alastair. Ripped out my own grace. _Fell_. What part of that makes me one of Heaven’s rank and file?”

“Hmm…” Alastair stroked his claws over his chin as he threw the rod back on the fire. “You do have a point with that. Tell me now, what’s your name, brother?”

“You mean you don’t already know?” The question slipped out before Cariel could stop it, encouraged by genuine surprise. He had been at Alastair’s “mercy” once before, pinned and helpless as his brother drilled into his mind and sought out all of his most hidden secrets. Even Naomi wasn’t as adept at reading another angel’s mind as Alastair had been. Cariel highly doubted a little thing like unconsciousness would have stopped Alastair from entering his brain and picking out the answers he wanted.

Alastair turned away from Cariel, but not before Cariel glimpsed the angry scowl written across Alastair’s face. “You mean you _can’t_ ,” he breathed in realization, his eyes widening. “That’s right, you’re not an angel anymore!”

Reading minds was an angelic skill that was apparently not shared by demons, even ones who had once been angels. Cariel sagged in his chains, willing to cry from relief if there’d been any moisture left in his body. Alastair couldn’t read his mind. That made this ploy so much easier.

“Don’t think I don’t still have ways of making you talk,” Alastair sneered, whirling back on Cariel with something curved and barbed and stained with old blood.

Cariel cringed away from the tool, offering Alastair a nervous laugh. “No, no, it’s okay, I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you!” Alastair still pressed the tip against Cariel’s throat, pricking through his skin. Cariel swallowed heavily, trying to flinch away. “Cariel! I’m Cariel!”

Alastair stopped, stepping back. “ _Cariel_?” There was a gleeful smile growing over the demon’s twisted face, like all his birthdays and Christmases came at once. “No… I can’t be this lucky…”

 _You’re not._ Cariel grimaced, turning his head as far to the side as he could. “Well, believe it. Heaven was too unbearable. I’m just sorry it took me this long to realize the truth.”

“The truth?” Alastair’s claws dug into Cariel’s chin, forcing him to look back at the demon. “And what truth is that, brother mine?”

 _I’m sorry, Gabriel._ Cariel reluctantly met Alastair’s eyes, but once their gazes met, he held it resolutely. “The truth that Lucifer was the only Archangel who gave a crap about any of us. _His_ way was the right way all along.”

“Lucifer?” Alastair squeezed tighter. Cariel felt bone crack in his jaw. “And what does a spoiled whelp of Gabriel’s know about Lucifer?”

“I know Lucifer stood up for us,” Cariel kept talking, even though every movement of his mouth with Alastair’s hand gripping him tight _ached_. He felt like the demon was trying to pull his jaw off his skull completely. “I know he believed in us, supported us. He went to _war_ for us. He went to the _Cage_ for us!”

“And Gabriel?” Alastair released Cariel’s chin and strode away from him, opening the door to the little torture room. Cariel gingerly tried to work his jaw back into the correct alignment as Alastair spoke to a demon just outside. It only took a minute before Alastair’s attention was back on Cariel. “What about _your_ beloved Archangel?”

Cariel summoned up his anger at Raphael for allowing Gabriel’s bloodline to fall into such ruin. He remembered his hatred for the Nephilim when Barachiel’s wings had been sliced off, his disgust at Jesus for taking up so much of Gabriel’s time, and his utter loathing of the rules that had chained Gabriel and himelf to a perverted sense of duty to Heaven over duty to themselves and each other. His eyes hardened angrily as he glared across the room at Alastair. “Don’t get me started on Gabriel!” he spat. “That double-crossing whore abandoned me in Heaven, to Raphael’s ‘mercy.’ He _ran_ , like the coward he always was!”

“Oho!” Alastair chortled as he picked up a saw and approached Cariel, delight splashing so obviously across his face. “I _like_ this turn of events! Tell me more!”

It took years before Azazel deigned to appear before Cariel, years during which time Alastair delighted in tearing at Cariel’s unprotected soul, encouraging him to spit vitriol at Gabriel and praise Lucifer’s name. Cariel gasped and screamed as Alastair inflicted every type of pain imaginable, but he refused to give his brother the pleasure of watching him break.

_Become a demon._

_Find Gabriel._

The two objectives ran through his head, a constant mantra giving him a sense of purpose. As long as he held to that, he could endure anything Alastair threw at him. He was an _Seraph_ , the lieutenant to Gabriel, greatest of the Archangels. He was going to be a demon. What was a little pain in the grand scheme of things? As the days blended together, Cariel could see his body changing, twisting and burning and bleeding away anything angelic. He was transforming into a demon. Would Gabriel even recognize him if he saw him now? Was there anything left to alert the Archangel to the mind inside this ruined shell? Or would Gabriel attack on sight, assuming he was just another demon?

Every time that thought came, that in trying to find a way to join with Gabriel, he might actually be destroying any chance he had of a reunion, Cariel attacked himself, biting at his tongue and mouth, clawing at his hands and arms as best he could in his chains. He needed the pain to keep his mind from going down that road. That road led to madness and surrender. He needed to stay _sane_!

Azazel came during a lull in the torture, when Cariel was left to hang from his bonds, panting loudly in the empty room. The yellow-eyed demon appeared in front of Cariel without a sound, waiting to see how long it would take to be noticed.

Cariel noticed right away, but he made Azazel wait a minute before glancing up and jumping theatrically. “Fuck!”

“And hello to you too, little brother.” Azazel crouched down to get closer to Cariel’s level, peering into his eyes. “You don’t look very happy.”

Cariel sucked on his own tongue, gathering up enough saliva and blood to spit into the corner, away from Azazel. “I don’t see you volunteering to take a turn.”

“I’ve done my time on the rack.” Azazel straightened up, pacing around Cariel’s bound form. “Alastair’s been keeping me up to date on your progress.” He curled his fingers around the chains wrapped around Cariel’s neck and yanked tightly, pulling him up against the rack. “I can’t believe it.”

“Believe?” Cariel choked out, feeling his windpipe getting crushed (again).

“That you, _you_ , would turn your back on Gabriel.” Azazel released the chains and Cariel slumped forward, coughing futilely. It took another ten minutes for his throat to heal enough to speak again, during which time Azazel continued to prowl around Cariel, his yellow eyes never leaving the collapsed angel. “You were a lieutenant, one of the original choices. Your loyalty to Gabriel is _absolute_. You would never, _never_ come willingly to Lucifer’s side.”

“Not…” Cariel squeezed his eyes shut, summoning up the sadness he felt when Gabriel left, the _betrayal_ , the utter feeling of abandonment and isolation. Gabriel had _left_ , and Cariel understood why, but neither understanding nor time had made anything any easier. One memory of a stolen kiss—from Gabriel’s perspective, not even his own—had not been enough to comfort him when Raphael grew overbearing. One apology whispered through his grace as Gabriel left him had not been enough to soothe his heart. He understood, and he loved, and he even forgave Gabriel, but he still hurt. This was not so much of an act as his anger had been. Azazel was not as easily played as Alastair. “Not exactly willing.”

“I thought not.” Azazel’s hand stroked over Cariel’s head and down his exposed back, almost soothing. “Come now, tell me what you’re _really_ doing here.” His voice was cloying and gentle, trying to coax a confession from Cariel. The younger angel knew better. Azazel only resulted to this simpering tone when he absolutely didn’t mean it. Still, Cariel had to act like he was clinging to this scrap of affection flung his way in Hell’s dark pits.

“Gabriel left me.” The waver to Cariel’s voice had nothing to do with his crushed windpipe and everything to do with the emotions Cariel was forcing himself to relive. His words sounded weak to his own ears, and he wondered how pathetic he had to look to Azazel now. “Gabriel, he… he was supposed to take me with him. We were going to escape together. We’d talked about it, planned it out, and then he just… he just _left_.”

“You’re not the only one who lost your Archangel,” Azazel reminded, his voice now unsympathetic. Cariel made himself flinch from the words.

“Yes, but… but Lucifer never _left_. He was taken from you, robbed from you. He never _wanted_ to leave you. Gabriel… Gabriel _chose_ …” Cariel choked back a little sob, wondering how theatric he could make this before Azazel stopped believing him. Azazel understood utter devotion to your Archangel. Cariel could probably push it pretty far. “Gabriel chose to _abandon_ me, and he didn’t even… I thought… I thought he was different. I thought he cared!”

“You poor thing.” Azazel’s voice was less soothing than it had been before, but oddly enough, that encouraged Cariel. The soothing tone had _definitely_ been fake. This? This could mean Azazel was willing to believe. “But why _Hell_? You’ve always been… while not exactly a goody-goody, more on Heaven’s side than some of us.”

Cariel turned his head, trying to wipe his eyes over his arm. He wasn’t crying, but he could make it look good. “I tried to stay in Heaven,” he mumbled. “I _tried_. I thought the best way to spite Gabriel would be to serve Raphael, willingly, _gladly_ …”

Azazel laughed, and Cariel nodded with a tiny little smile. “Yeah. Raphael’s still as much of a dick as ever. Worse without Gabriel to distract him. I wanted to spite Gabriel, but…”

“Not that much?”

Cariel glanced up at Azazel, catching his brother’s eye, commiserating with him. For one moment, they _were_ brothers again, united against their annoying older siblings. _Perfect_. That was what Cariel needed, that connection, that _reminder_. “Lucifer never wanted to leave. He was driven away trying to protect us. I thought… I thought you would understand. Thought _he_ would understand. And hey…” Cariel spread his arms as much as he could, rattling his chains. “Demon, right? Gabriel would flip his _shit_ if he could see me now.”

“This is true.” Azazel looked thoughtful as he resumed his pacing. “Some say that it was Gabriel himself who came into Hell after you, you know. He called himself Loki, a pagan god, but he carried Gabriel’s sword.”

Loki? Cariel remembered the god from his years as Fergus MacLeod. He had met Loki when he was young, and Loki had attached himself to Fergus for no reason that Fergus could understand. At least, no reason Fergus could understand until the last day of his life.

_Even gods can fall in love._

_Had_ Loki been Gabriel? It had never even been a possibility in Fergus’ mind, and Cariel hadn’t even suspected anything until just now. Loki had attacked Lilith with Gabriel’s sword. Gabriel wouldn’t give his sword up for _anything_. It wasn’t something that could be stolen from an Archangel… but what if Loki had run into Gabriel at some point during his travels? If Gabriel learned that Loki was protecting Fergus, who was Cariel, then maybe, _maybe_ , Gabriel would have given up his weapon to protect Cariel.

That was the sort of thing Gabriel would do, actually. Cariel _knew_ his Archangel would have given up his sword to protect him. It made sense.

He shook his head to Azazel’s implied question though. “No… Loki wasn’t Gabriel. Maybe he met Gabriel, maybe Gabriel was actually feeling guilty about how he treated me, but Loki was definitely a god. The magic he used in my lifetime wasn’t angelic in nature at all.”

“You’re positive?”

Cariel nodded. “Loki was a _god_. Unless angels can possess non-humans,” and they couldn’t, as far as Cariel knew, “he wasn’t also Gabriel.”

“But if he were?”

With a sigh, Cariel let himself slump against his chains. “If he were, so what? He’s not going to win my forgiveness by galumphing around Hell like a rampaging bull. If he _really_ were Gabriel, he left me on this rack. He abandoned me _again_. Why would I want _anything_ to do with him?”

If Loki _had_ been Gabriel, he wouldn’t have been able to touch Cariel’s exposed soul once he was strapped to this rack. Cariel remembered Gabriel telling him how Sorcha had flinched and cringed from him when she was on the rack. Even if Loki had been Gabriel, he wouldn’t have been able to pull Cariel free without hurting him worse, or possibly even killing him for good. He’d had no choice but to leave Cariel down here.

 _Sorcha._ Sudden realization filled the fallen angel. Loki’s last shape, the woman Fergus had taken into his bed. She hadn’t been just any random woman. She had been _Sorcha_ , Gabriel’s favorite female vessel. Loki wouldn’t have known the woman, but Gabriel would have. Loki couldn’t have adopted her form… but Gabriel could have. Gabriel had been beside him all these years, and Cariel had never even realized it.

His jaw clenched, and Cariel bit his own tongue to keep from revealing any of this newfound awareness to Azazel. He sucked in a breath, hoping Azazel would mistake it for anger instead of joy.

“You don’t have much luck with your Archangel,” Azazel said with a little tsk of his tongue. “And now you’re here with us, for better or worse.”

“Let me join you.” Cariel lifted his head, staring up at Azazel. “You know me; you know what I’m capable of doing. I was practically running Gabriel’s choir. He just signed off on the occasional paper. Let me _help_. I can make Hell something _incredible_.”

“And I can’t?” Azazel asked, narrowing his eyes as he took insult with Cariel’s words.

“You haven’t,” Cariel pointed out bluntly. “But I don’t think it’s for a lack of trying. I’ve seen the other demons around here. Alastair’s the only other one with any sort of sense. Lilith _maybe_ , but I haven’t seen her since I fell.”

“You have Loki to thank for that,” Azazel said with a smile. Cariel hesitantly returned it.

“You need me, Azazel. You need another _intelligent_ demon.” He rattled his chains again, looking squarely at his brother. “Two choices here. Torture me until I break. Destroy my mind and make me one of your minions. _Or_. Or, you can cut me down now. Bring me over to your side and let me _be_ at your side.”

“How do I know you won’t turn on me?” Azazel asked, clearly considering. “Demons aren’t known for their trustworthiness.”

“This is still Lucifer’s realm, for all that he’s locked away,” Cariel reminded Azazel. “And you are still Lucifer’s second. He’ll never accept me in your place. If I usurp you, I’m just asking to be killed when Lucifer returns.” Azazel gave a grudging nod at that. “You’ll have to take me on my word and my self-preservation instinct. Give me something to do, a position with a bit of power to throw around over the standard grade human demons, and I’ll be quite happy bowing to you. If you’re happy with my work, put in a good word when Lucifer rises. If you’re not?” Cariel shrugged. “Let him kill me. You’ll be holding my life in your hands, Azazel. You really think you can’t keep me obedient with that?”

“You think the other demons would see that? Alastair works for me, but you, you’d be a wildcard, a new angelic demon to follow.”

“Then don’t tell them I was an angel.” Cariel let his head drop. “Take my name from me. Give me something suitably demonic. Make them think I’m no more than a twisted human. I won’t fight. I just want to be useful.”

Want to be useful. It was a core driving force in every angel, something Azazel would empathize with even as he turned his back on Heaven. If Cariel was acting out of a desire to be useful, then he wasn’t acting out of a desire to stab Azazel in the back.

Azazel continued to look thoughtful, even as he turned away from Cariel and left the room. Cariel sighed, sagging in his chains again. Had it worked? Would Azazel trust him?

Three days later, three lonely, tortureless days later, Cariel got his answer as the chains suddenly unraveled from around his body and dropped him to the floor.

“Get up!” Alastair snapped from the doorway. “You’ve got a new life ahead of you.”

“Is that it?” Cariel asked, pushing himself to his feet slowly, wavering on unsteady legs. “I’m on your side now?”

Alastair snorted and gave a nod. “You most certainly are. Welcome to Hell… Crowley.”


	20. Little Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel vs. An Unidentified Angel! BEGIN!

### Little Brother

“Hello, Gabriel.”

The angel wearing the old man was veiled, his grace pulled tightly in to his vessel. The faint waves emanating from his body were not enough to identify him, but they were strong enough to indicate that this was a powerful angel. Even if he hadn’t been radiating grace, Gabriel was able to recognize the signs of angelic possession. That unnatural stillness, the focus, the way the man’s body was ignoring his obvious limitations… Gabriel had been caught. She had just used her grace to reseal Hell… not to mention the obscene amount it took to _open_ Hell in the first place, and the blessing she had given Gavin and his wife, and all of that rapid flying, and…

And she had been careless. Throwing grace around in Dundee and Canisbay had been as stupid as smacking Raphael over the head with a glowing sign and shouting for him to come after her. All the years she had spent in these two places had allowed them to soak up her grace passively, like a sponge. Actively using it had been the equivalent of squeezing that sponge, releasing it all at once.

Gabriel couldn’t feel any other angels nearby, but that meant nothing. This angel was veiled from her senses. Any number of brothers could be as well. She shifted Thorn into her left arm, her eyes never leaving the angel as she slowly drew her sword, just in case. She could take down one angel easily (as long as it wasn’t an Archangel). Anything more, and she might end up killing a brother. She didn’t want to do that. In all her years of life, the only angels Gabriel had killed had been those who had already fallen, the demonic Knights of Hell who had once laid siege to Heaven. Still, if this angel tried to drag her before Raphael (surely it couldn’t be Raphael—like herself, Raphael could not veil his massive grace _completely_ ), Gabriel would defend herself to his death, if the need arose.

The other angel’s eyes flicked to the sword, and his head canted to the side in puzzlement. Gabriel could see the moment when realization filled his eyes. “Oh no, I’m not here for you.” He shook his head, holding up both hands to show them empty. “I mean, I suppose I _am_ here for you, technically, but I’m not going to… oh, forget it. This is easier. Not going to attack, okay?”

Gabriel kept her guard up as the other angel released his hold on his grace, letting his angelic aura flood the room they stood in. Six white wings stretched out from his back, marking him as one of the Seraphim.

Not just _one_ of the Seraphim. _Barachiel_. Gabriel found herself relaxing as she recognized the angel’s grace. Barachiel himself was no threat to her.

Barachiel was the Seraph of the physical Earth. He oversaw the garrisons that monitored the planet itself, that controlled its weather and spin, that sculpted canyons and built mountains. Barachiel’s angels triggered volcanos and changed the courses of rivers. As their leader, Barachiel was immensely powerful in his own right. He could call on the Earth and all her forces to come to his aid if he ever entered battle.

Barachiel was also the most cheerful of the angels. He always had a smile or a bad joke if you needed cheering up, he seldom had a bad word to say about anyone, and he had once been unanimously voted by the rest of Gabriel’s choir as “the best shoulder to cry on.”

Barachiel had originally served under Gabriel in Heaven, one of his first-class Seraphim, the strongest and oldest of their kind. At the end, he had been second only to Cariel himself and every bit as trusted and appreciated. Barachiel had repeatedly expressed a deep love and devotion to his Archangel. Gabriel felt confident that her Seraph—because Barachiel would always be _her_ Seraph, no matter who ruled in Heaven—wouldn’t lift his sword against her.

Gabriel lowered her sword, but she didn’t sheathe it, not yet. “Barachiel. You’re looking well.” The Seraph did look good, his grace and spirit both healed from the horrible mauling he had endured at the hands of the Nephilim centuries ago. His wings had clearly grown back, and from the way he twitched and spread them, there was no lasting damage.

“I wish I could say the same to you.” Barachiel lowered his hands and entered the parlor, brushing the door closed behind him with one of his wings. “You look awful, Gabriel. Far too pale and stretched so thin…” He reached up, hesitating a moment before pressing his hand against Gabriel’s cheek.

 _Grace._ Gabriel had forgotten how it felt to touch grace with a brother. Her knees nearly gave out beneath her as Barachiel fed his grace into hers, every point of contact between them sizzling with power. Gabriel’s grace latched on to Barachiel’s greedily, inhaling the feeling of being connected again. Fergus’ soul had kept her loneliness at bay, but _this_ , this was what an angel was meant to feel, all the time, every day. A whimper escaped her throat as she burrowed into her brother’s aura.

“Shh…” Barachiel slid his other arm around Gabriel’s waist, pressing his forehead against her shoulder and sealing their bodies together for the maximum contact. “I’m here. It’s okay. You’re not alone.”

“Cariel,” Gabriel whispered into Barachiel’s hair, sheathing her sword to grab him, Thorn trapped between their bodies. The dog squirmed into a more comfortable position but did not try to escape. He was wrapped entirely in angelic grace—there was no more perfect place in the world than where he was right now.

Barachiel shook his head against Gabriel’s shoulder. “Gabriel… Gabriel, I’m sorry, but Cariel… he fell to Earth years ago…”

“No, he…” Gabriel shivered in Barachiel’s arms, now shaking her own head. “No, I found him. He was here. He… he’s dead, Barachiel. He died today.”

Barachiel drew back enough to look up at Gabriel, pressing his hand to her face again. “Oh Gabriel, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ll make sure to find his soul in Heaven. I’ll watch out for him. I won’t let Raphael get to him again.”

Gabriel closed her eyes, grimacing at the memories. “He won’t be going to Heaven, Barachiel. He sold his soul. He’s in Hell even as we speak.” She could feel Barachiel’s surprise in his grace, but not, to _her_ surprise, shock. Or even horror. There was instead… resignation? “Did you know?” she demanded, pulling back from Barachiel physically, though their graces remained tightly intwined. “Did you _know_ he was going to do this?”

“I knew he was going to come to Earth, to your bloodline,” Barachiel admitted. “I didn’t know he was going to sell his soul, but… your bloodline is infested with demons and witches. I can’t say it was a surprise that he fell so far.”

Gabriel pulled out of Barachiel’s arms, setting Thorn down and pacing the length of the parlor. Had Cariel planned this out, decades ago?

“He was looking for you, you know,” Barachiel murmured, crouching down to pet the inquisitive little terrier. His grace stroked along Gabriel’s, mimicking the motions of his hand. “Heaven… keeping Cariel and Raphael contained together up there was proving almost as disastrous as you and Raphael.”

“What did he do?” Gabriel asked, glancing back at Barachiel. Her grace was still grasping at his, even though their bodies were no longer touching. She wasn’t willing to let him go so soon.

Barachiel smiled. “Nothing nearly as egregious as what you would have done in his place, but for a lowly fifth-class Seraph?” He gave a little shake of his head. “Cariel would _backtalk_. And _say no_!”

“The horror!” Gabriel could just imagine Cariel standing up against Raphael, snarking at her too-literal twin, his arms folded, wings set at a stubborn angle. She managed to smile at the picture she held in her mind, remembering Cariel how he was. “Raphael demoted him?”

Barachiel nodded, ducking his head to study Thorn. “Of course he did. Cariel was yours. Neither Michael nor Raphael would dare trust him. Not after what Azazel did.”

“Cariel wouldn’t have-”

“Cariel was _yours_ ,” Barachiel stressed. “He wouldn’t turn against Heaven and disappoint you, but he would never be loyal to Raphael, and Michael…” Gabriel turned to look at Barachiel when the angel mentioned his brother, but Barachiel could only give a little shrug back at the Archangel. “Michael honestly hasn’t improved much since the war,” he admitted. “All the choirs have been folded together under Michael, and Raphael stands as his second, with Marmoniel below him, but…” The angel gave a larger shrug, kneeling so he could rub the chubby belly Thorn was proffering. “It’s hard to tell who runs Heaven sometimes. God? Michael? Raphael? _Everything_ feels like Raphael’s choir these days. There is no joy. There isn’t even much music. We’re encouraged to sing praises to God, and that’s really about it. Even a smile is seen as a threat of rebellion sometimes.”

Gabriel slanted her eyes toward Barachiel, frowning a little. Barachiel still didn’t know God had left? Michael and Raphael really were doing a good job keeping _that_ hidden from the Host. If Barachiel didn’t know, chances were good that no other angel knew. Gabriel wouldn’t be the one to tell him.

“I’ve probably said too much.” Barachiel’s hand stilled on Thorn’s belly, and the Seraph slowly straightened back to his feet. “Gabriel, Raphael took a handful of his angels to Canisbay, where Cariel fell, to try to find you. Once they see you’re not there, they may head here. I was sent merely to scout for you, since I was one of the angels most comfortable with Earth. You need to leave before they come.”

“If Raphael finds out you warned me instead of trapped me, you’re as good as dead,” Gabriel said, watching Barachiel.

“Raphael has spies in many places, but I can’t feel any of them here.” Barachiel turned slowly once, his wings stirring up the air. A little breeze danced around the room, and Barachiel shook his head with a sad smile. “No, we’re still alone. For now. He sends Cherubim everywhere, Gabriel, Cherubim who can veil themselves absolutely completely from another angel’s sight.”

“Cherubim,” Gabriel repeated, her eyes narrowing. Archangels had no hopes of ever hiding completely from another angel when veiled. They had far too much grace to contain within themselves. Seraphim had a slightly easier time, but like Barachiel had, a bit of their grace would always shine through. Similarly, Dominions always showed, and Angels hummed with power, though their grace was dimmer when fully veiled, nearly invisible.

Cherubim, on the other hand, had only a fraction of an Angel’s grace. They were the youngest and weakest of the Host, but they were also the most useful in so many clever ways. They could pass among mortals the easiest and could move through realms with barely a ripple in their passing. They were incredibly single-minded and could be put to one task to complete it with utter perfection—Joshua, for example, minded the Garden of Heaven and made sure it thrived. Metatron, for all his faults, had been utterly meticulous at note-keeping. Gabriel’s Cherubim, known as the Cupids, had all taken a shining to a particular human family and kept it bred and tended over the generations.

Raphael, apparently, had set his Cherubim to spying. A veiled Cherub _was_ invisible, unless Barachiel’s little breeze had some way of identifying them. Gabriel had never been able to tell when hidden Cherubim were around, and she had eventually decided it wasn’t worth worrying about.

Maybe she should have. Maybe this was how Raphael had always known her most secret conversations.

“Come with me,” Gabriel said, holding out her hand to Barachiel. “We can find a way to hide you from Raphael too.”

“Gabriel…” Barachiel shook his head, curling his hands against his chest. “I can’t. I want to, but without Cariel, without you, there would be no one left in Heaven to watch over what remains of your choir. They suffer, Gabriel. Stoically, as all angels would, but still. We were not made to live as Raphael’s angels do. They come to me when it becomes overbearing, and I help them as best I can. I can’t…”

Gabriel dropped her hand but stepped closer to Barachiel, sweeping the Seraph into a hug of wings and arms, enfolding her younger brother completely in her grace. “I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you in my life, Barachiel, but I am grateful for it. Thank you, for watching over my angels. Give them my love.”

“I can’t do that either,” Barachiel said, shaking his head. “Because you can’t let me remember any of this.”

“I was going to risk it,” Gabriel admitted.

“Don’t.” Barachiel hugged Gabriel tight, closing his eyes. “Take it all from me, Gabriel. You must. If you don’t, Naomi will. She’ll know what you look like now. How you’re hiding.” He touched his grace to Gabriel’s core, sparking it off the tight little cluster that was what remained of Loki, curled deep inside the angel. “ _What_ you’re hiding.” His hand dropped from Gabriel’s back to her belly, over the second little core of the new soul.

Gabriel stepped back abruptly, folding her arms over her stomach and layering two sets of wings over them, just to be safe. Not that wings or arms could hide the fact that Gabriel’s body held a third life. Barachiel had seen it. He knew. If any angel had the right to bear a grudge against the Nephilim, it was Barachiel, who had nearly died at their hands. However, Gabriel also knew that Barachiel had never harbored a grudge against the very monsters that had torn his wings from his back. Surely he wouldn’t try to hurt an innocent, unborn one.

“Just answer me this,” Barachiel murmured, canting his head toward Gabriel. “Is it Cariel’s?”

Gabriel nodded mutely, still protecting the child as best she could.

Barachiel’s brilliant grin broke across his face and flooded the room with his joy. “Took you two long enough!”

“He’s dead now,” Gabriel reminded Barachiel, but Barachiel shook his head, surging forward to press a kiss to Gabriel’s cheek even as he touched his hands over Gabriel’s belly. His joy was infectious, sinking deep into Gabriel’s grace and warming her from deep inside.

“He’ll always live as long as this one does. I’m happy for you, Gabriel, truly I am! But now you really do need to go…” Barachiel reached for Gabriel’s hands and lifted them to his head. “I wish I didn’t have to forget.”

“I miss you, Barachiel. Every day.”

“And you are missed in Heaven.”

“Last time I did this, I left my victim a gibbering mess,” Gabriel warned, touching her fingers to Barachiel’s temples and leaning in to gently kiss his forehead. Barachiel closed his eyes and opened his mind, letting Gabriel inside.

“I trust you.”


	21. Sea Legs and Many Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A major player in Gabriel’s life steps forward, and a new chapter begins to unfold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It occurs to me that some people may be upset about the introduction of a baby. Let me just say this: the baby is _not_ an OC. You've trusted me thus far, keep trusting me some more!

### Sea Legs and Many Hands

Gabriel carefully stripped away every trace of their conversation from Barachiel’s mind. She made sure there wasn’t a single hint of her current appearance left, not one whisper of her voice or identity or _anything_ that could be used to trace her… and then she inserted new, false memories. A glimpse Barachiel got of an angel wearing a female vessel similar to Issobell in appearance. A whisper to a little white cat in her arms. _To the sea, Luna, to the sea. They’ll never look for me on the water._ A moment where the false-Gabriel saw Barachiel, and then she was gone.

Naomi would recognize the memories as false instantly. Even though Gabriel was confident in the Seraph’s abilities to see her own inexpert hand at work, she made sure to leave a couple glaring tells that what Barachiel remembered was not what had actually happened. Hopefully, with such an obvious fake, Naomi wouldn’t have to torture Barachiel long for the truth. Nothing Gabriel did would be able to entirely spare him a visit to Naomi’s chair, but maybe this would satisfy her quickly.

Raphael would read Naomi’s report and discount everything Gabriel had said in it as false and search for the opposite. Her brother would be so _proud_ that he saw through Gabriel’s lies. That was why Gabriel left Barachiel in the house and hurried to the docks. Raphael was straight-forward and literal. A bluff would be the height of deception for him. A double-bluff would never cross his mind, and no one would dare suggest to Raphael that he might be wrong. 

Gabriel snapped her fingers under the noses of the appropriate guards and ended up a last-minute passenger on the _Clarity_ , a small two-masted schooner from Holland. Another snap of her fingers, and the _Clarity_ left port that very night, much to the consternation of some of her other passengers who had not managed to get onboard.

Gabriel didn’t care about the other passengers. She descended into the bowels of the ship and curled up in the tiny cabin allotted to her (abandoned by one of the abandoned passengers). Thorn nuzzled against her chest, and she wrapped her wings around the dog. Fergus was dead. _Cariel_ was dead. All she had left was a half-angelic monster inside her and an apparently-immortal pet. The hollow ache of a thousand years alone had reopened into a gaping wound, her grace aching to return to Barachiel’s, to be welcomed back into Heaven, to be surrounded by her brothers again, even if it were only to lead to her execution. She grit her teeth and squeezed Thorn tightly, trying to weather the storm within.

In the end, it was a good thing that Thorn would keep on living regardless of his treatment. Whatever Fergus had done to bring his dog back to life also meant that when Gabriel forgot to summon the dog food or water, Thorn did nothing more than whine for a bit before settling down against Gabriel’s side again. He growled at the door whenever someone passed by on the outside, always hovering protectively near the lethargic angel. Thorn had taken her under his wing, even when she neglected him.

Several weeks into the trip, Gabriel sensed another ship not too far away, another cluster of human life on the empty seas. She roused herself just enough to gather Thorn into her arms and slipped outside, invisible. One short flight, a few snaps, and Gabriel was now a passenger on the _Amsterdam_ , a Dutch trading vessel.

For six months, Gabriel lived on ships, never staying on the same one for long, and it was hellish. The constant motion of the water beneath her was agonizing, especially with the lack of fire surrounding her. The little oil lamps or the occasional lighting of the kitchen’s small oven was hardly enough to bolster her sagging energy.

It didn’t help that the Nephilim growing inside her was consuming her grace. It devoured her fire in great hungry gulps, growing fat on the raw power of an Archangel. There were days, weeks at a time, where Gabriel could do little more than clutch her swollen belly and groan as the Nephilim stretched and stirred within her.

Her own body rebelled against the presence of another inside of her. Gabriel spent much of her mental energy keeping it from rejecting the child. This was all that was left of Cariel. As much as Gabriel feared what it would become, she would not be the one to kill it. _He’ll always live as long as this one does,_ Barachiel had said. Gabriel clung to that, clung to her Seraph’s obvious joy that she had created a child with her second. Had her desires been so obvious when she was in Heaven? Had Cariel’s?

Thorn was the best companion Gabriel could have hoped for on this journey, short of Cariel himself. The little dog was always faithfully at her side, keeping curious humans away, and always ready when she needed something to cling to. He managed to coax her onto the deck on good days, where the sun could warm her wings and bolster her rapidly-draining grace. In return, Gabriel summoned up Thorn’s favorite foods: plump sausages, rashers of bacon, and chicken necks. When she couldn’t find the energy to do even that, she sent the cabin boy to find him food. Thorn didn’t need to suffer just because he didn’t need to eat.

Human pregnancies were supposed to grow _easier_ over time, Gabriel knew. The sickness faded as the body accepted the fact that there was a child, and the expectant mother could function relatively normally for the middle months.

Gabriel’s pregnancy was not following that of a standard human woman. Every day was more difficult than the last, and Gabriel battled a constant feeling of nausea that had never once come over her before in all her long life. Even the first time she descended into Hell and felt God’s presence ripped away from her had never felt like _this_.

She felt like she were dying. Like the child inside was drawing from her very life and would drain her completely in order to be born. “Even as a fetus, you try to murder angels,” Gabriel murmured, wrapping her arms around her belly with a little groan. 

The angel was sitting in the bow of the upper deck of a relatively small Indiaman ship, the _Albermarle_. The air was warm and the sky cloudless, so Gabriel had her wings stretched over the railings on either side, soaking in as much of the sun as she could, but every breeze that ruffled her hair or combed through her feathers made her flinch, fearing Raphael was about to show up. He was unlikely to come—it had been six months without any other angel’s presence, so her trail surely had gone cold—but Gabriel was still wary. If Raphael showed up _now_ , she wouldn’t even be able to run from him. If a _Seraph_ showed up now, a single Seraph, trying to impress his Archangel brothers, Gabriel probably would lose. The combination of the Nephilim and the ocean had sapped so much of her strength already, and she still had months to go.

“I can’t do this.” Gabriel reached out, digging her fingers into Thorn’s fur. The little dog whined, thumping his tail and wriggling closer against her leg. “We have to get off the water, Thorn. I can’t do both. I _can’t_.”

Thorn licked Gabriel’s fingers and rested his chin on her thigh. She sighed, scratching him behind the ears as she rested her own head against the wooden railing of the ship. “Next time we dock, we get off.”

Next time turned out to be two weeks later, in a city called Bombay. Gabriel swayed as she stepped onto dry land for the first time in months, still feeling the rocking of the sea. Her freckled skin, made even paler by the lack of sun she’d received in the past six months, and her copper hair made her stand out in this crowd of dark-skinned natives, but Gabriel ignored the stares she received as she staggered into town. Fire. There had to be a fire somewhere in this city, a _real_ fire, with a bite and a roar.

“Go back to your ship.” Two men with long, shaggy hair, dressed in similar white clothing to many of the other men Gabriel saw, were watching her intently. They both had an unearthly shimmer to their skin, a glitter that revealed their true identities as pagan gods instead of the mortals they were masquerading as. The shorter man grinned at her, revealing a mouth full of sharpened teeth, but it was the taller one who spoke. “We don’t need more of your kind around here, _Westerner_.” He spat the direction as if it were an insult, but the reasoning completely escaped Gabriel. She didn’t want to pick a fight right now. She just wanted to get past these two.

Pasting on her most charming smile, Gabriel spread her arms, all feminine innocence and naiveté. “I am simply looking for a place to rest for the night,” she tried, willing herself as harmless-appearing as possible. “I do not intend to intrude upon your lands for long.”

_Let me through or I’ll gut you both…_

But no, no, drawing her sword here would be rude. Loki was a powerful visiting god, after all, and sometimes local deities could get excessively possessive of their homelands. Not that Gabriel would actively attempt to usurp anything. She had enough trouble on her hands without restarting her worship.

Gabriel also wasn’t entirely sure that she _could_ draw her sword in her current condition. The Nephilim must have grown again last night because her grace was at its lowest ebb since she left Dundee.

The men swaggered closer to Gabriel, cracking their knuckles menacingly as they advanced. “We said,” the taller one drawled, “get back to your ship, _bitch_.”

“That’s no way to talk to a lady,” Gabriel protested, refusing to give ground to these two. She was an _angel of the Lord_ , and she was _going_ to find fire today!

“You’re no lady.” The shorter man reached out and shoved Gabriel’s shoulder, rocking her slightly, as the taller one shook his head. Thorn snarled at Gabriel’s heels, but she touched her foot gently to his leg to keep him from attacking. She could handle this. “We don’t want you here, and we _don’t_ want your whelp.”

“You think you can just waltz in here and take over?” the shorter one finally spoke for the first time. “You think if you drop your brat in these lands, it gets to take over?”

“I assure you,” Gabriel insisted, holding her hands up, “I don’t mean to usurp your lands. I only wish to rest on dry land and recover my strength.”

“And _we_ assure _you_ -”

“Is there a problem here?” The new speaker was a tall woman with a severe face and a white sari decorated in gold. Her dark eyes glittered dangerously, and she suddenly seemed to have more hands than Gabriel expected as she reached for the two men, yanking them away from Gabriel. She glittered and shone just like the men did, a goddess in her own right, but unlike the men, this was one Gabriel recognized and knew by name.

“Kalika.” Gabriel bowed to the goddess as best she could with her pregnant belly in the way. “Thank you for your assistance.” The Great Destroyer Kali was far stronger than Loki and deserved a show of respect even from the impudent and irreverent Trickster. A failure to do so could mean Loki’s death.

Of course, Kali couldn’t hold a candle to Gabriel at full power, but right now, Gabriel wasn’t interested in testing strength against the goddess of destruction.

Kali narrowed her eyes as she looked Gabriel over. “Who are you supposed to be?” she demanded, folding her arms (one set, at least—if Gabriel squinted and turned her head slightly to the side, she could make out more) across her chest.

Gabriel didn’t want to be perceived as a threat here. She was on her last dregs of energy as it was, and she genuinely needed to rest near a fire, maybe even _in_ one, if she wanted to survive this pregnancy. Loki was considered one of the stronger gods—not Kali’s class, but not someone to underestimate. Using his name might not win her any favors here. “Rosmerta,” she offered, hoping Kali would accept the name of the minor goddess who was already practically obsolete.

“Rosmerta, goddess of…?” Kali folded a second set of arms, a third resting on her hips. She wasn’t happy.

“Fertility.” Gabriel rubbed her hand over her belly and smiled as kindly as she could at the dark goddess.

“Stop that,” Kali snapped. “You’re trying to put me off by being sweet. I hate sweet.”

Gabriel sighed, letting the smile drop. “Kali, please,” she murmured, risking a step closer to Kali and lowering her voice so the two minor male pagans couldn’t overhear. “I need to rest away from the water. Just a few days, and I’ll move on,” _if I can._ “I won’t cause any trouble while I’m here.”

A fourth right hand of Kali’s reached up and rested across Gabriel’s forehead. _Fire!_ Gabriel made a grab for her grace, but it was too desperate for her to control. It latched on to the heat radiating from the goddess’ hand, inhaling her internal fire just like the Nephilim devoured Gabriel’s.

Kali’s eyes widened fractionally at the feeling, but she didn’t pull away from Gabriel. She let Gabriel’s grace strengthen for several minutes, ignoring the bustle of the city around them, before purposefully withdrawing her hand. “You are not a goddess of fertility. You have fire in your blood, but it is weakened. I do not like liars.”

“How about Tricksters?” Gabriel clasped her hands together to keep from reaching out for Kali again. Now that she knew the goddess was a source of fire, fire greater than anything the humans in this city could kindle, it was taking all of her rejuvenated control not to latch on again. “My name is Loki. I’m… in a spot of trouble, as you can see.” She bumped her hands lightly against her stomach.

“Loki,” Kali repeated. “King of the Tricksters.”

“That’s what they say. I see you’ve heard of me.”

“I understood you to be a _god_.”

“Yeah, well I…” Gabriel trailed off with a shrug. “Do this sometimes? My followers are…” She sighed again, theatrically this time, catching the thread of a story. “It’s been a while since you’ve only had a handful. Maybe you’ve forgotten how easily they can change your mythos when there aren’t many of them left. My worshippers have been waning over these past few centuries. It only took _five_ of them to think this up.”

“You do have an impressive array of children, if the tales are at all true.”

“When aren’t they?” Gabriel smiled at Kali, not sweet this time, but a clever smile, full of mischief. “C’mon, what do you say? Let me rest here?”

Kali was silent, studying Gabriel as if she could divine the truth of her words just by staring into her eyes. Eventually, the goddess turned, beckoning with one of her hands. “You will stay as my guest for as long as I see fit.”

Gabriel whistled for Thorn to follow her as she trailed after Kali, watching the goddess move. Kali parted the crowd with her very presence, gliding effortlessly through the packed city streets. It was hard to tell if the humans could see her or not, but they all knew to get out of her way. Kali was clearly the queen here. Gabriel would do well to keep her happy.


	22. At Home with the Destroyers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weakened by a Nephilim, Gabriel must put her trust in the most destructive goddess in the Hindu pantheon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who don’t know, Shiva is Kali’s partner, the only one truly able to calm her anger.
> 
> The two men who were heckling Gabriel in the last chapter are Rakshasas, or unrighteous spirits. Specifically, they were Hidimba and Kamsa.

### At Home with the Destroyers

Kali lived in a palatial home tucked into the hills outside Bombay. By the time she and Gabriel arrived there, traveling on foot the entire way, Gabriel’s grace was waning again. She had her arms wrapped around her belly, trying to support the weight of the ravenous child that drained her energy and her good mood. She let herself fall behind Kali, so as not to be tempted to reach for the goddess’ fire again no matter how much her grace ached for it.

Kali’s home was made of painted stone and polished wood, graceful arches and soaring pillars creating a scene that was utterly unlike anything Europe had to offer. Gabriel openly admired the architecture, making a few awestruck noises to earn a little smile from the goddess. This was not the first time she had been to India, but she seldom stayed long enough to appreciate the differences in cultures. Kali and the other Hindi deities had a firm hold on this part of the world, and the angels had always been respectfully avoidant.

“Ah, Kali my love!” A large man strode out from a side room, approaching Kali with his arms out. The goddess turned a long-suffering look toward him, turning one hand palm out and stretching it toward him to keep him at bay.

“No.”

The man chuckled and stepped in anyway, catching Kali in a hug that lifted her off her feet. He swept her in a circle before putting her down again, leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek. Though Kali continued to keep up the disgruntled attitude, there was a secret little smile in the corner of her mouth that showed she really didn’t mind.

Gabriel’s borrowed heart twisted in her chest, and she looked away, studying the intricate tilework of the floor instead of letting her mind go back to Fergus, to Cariel, to her best friend’s smiles and obvious love. He would never catch her in his arms again, never run his fingers through her wings, never greet her with an enthusiastic hug and a kiss against the corner of her lips. His love was lost to her now.

“And who is this?” The man—a god in his own right, Gabriel identified when she looked back at him—was approaching her now, holding out his arms in welcome. Gabriel scrounged up a thready smile, wondering if he was going to attempt to hug her too.

“This is Loki,” Kali introduced, “from the north. Loki, my consort, Shiva.”

Thankfully, Shiva only clapped Gabriel on the shoulders, laughing heartily at Kali’s dry words. “ _Her_ consort, she says! _Hers_!” He laughed again, shaking his head and leaning close to stage-whisper, “Alas, she is absolutely correct. She always is. Remember that well, Loki of the North.”

“I shall keep that foremost in my mind, Lord Shiva.” Gabriel bowed as best she could again, with Shiva right in front of her and her own stomach in the way. Shiva was considered one of the greatest gods in his pantheon, and Gabriel needed his hospitality.

“Are you sure this is Loki?” Shiva asked, releasing one of Gabriel’s shoulders to look back at Kali. “I did believe the King of the Tricksters would be a bit more… kingly. No offense meant,” he was quick to assure Gabriel. “You’re very lovely and _queenly_ , but…”

“Difficult cycle,” Kali explained, and understanding swept across Shiva’s face.

“Ah, I see. Mortals and their peculiarities.”

“They do like giving me children,” Gabriel agreed with another weak smile. “Lord Shiva, Kali has graciously offered me a place to stay-”

“Then you have it!” Shiva clasped Gabriel’s shoulders again before releasing her to return to Kali. “This is _Kali’s_ home, after all, not mine at all. I was actually about to leave.”

“Oh?” Kali allowed Shiva to curl his arm around her waist and pull him close. Gabriel clenched her jaw against more forbidden thoughts of Cariel and Fergus. She would never move past this grief if she kept letting such memories resurface!

“Ganesh wishes to travel. I thought I’d take him to the Far East. Ma Gu has been asking after me. I think she’d like to meet my son.”

“You don’t want to be here,” Kali interpreted.

Shiva sighed, taking Kali’s hands in his (an impressive feat, Gabriel noted, what with how many of them they both actually had). “You know I love you, Kali, but-”

“You need your space.”

“You’re starting a difficult cycle of your own,” Shiva pointed out. “I’d rather not… be in your way.”

“Good.” Kali actually smiled faintly at Shiva, turning to brush her lips over his cheek. “You _are_ learning your place. Go. Have your fun with Ma Gu. I’m sure Loki will keep me suitably entertained.”

“At the very least, she can help you out.”

“I will help her,” Kali retorted, her face impassive again.

“Of course,” Shiva laughed. “Of course you will!” He gave her one more kiss before looking back to Gabriel. “You’ll be in good hands here, Loki. If anyone can help you through this cycle, it will be my Kali.”

Gabriel gave another smile and bow, and then Shiva was gone, off to the Far East, presumably.

“This way,” Kali instructed, starting down the long, arched corridors again. “I will show you your room.”

Gabriel hurried to catch up, hating how she had to waddle more than walk now. She paid close attention to every turn they took, to make sure she wouldn’t be lost in Kali’s maze of a home. “If I may ask,” she began, “what cycle are you starting?”

Kali snorted derisively. “Some foolish worshippers of mine think me _maternal_. They are encouraging me to be a motherly goddess.”

“Oh.” Gabriel studied Kali for a moment, then looked down at her belly.

“Exactly,” Kali grumbled. “As long as they’re insisting, I might as well indulge them. I will be properly motherly towards you and your offspring, _but_ ,” the goddess turned sharply, poking a sharp-nailed finger against Gabriel’s belly, “it will not become a deity in my pantheon. Is that clear?”

“It won’t be a deity in any pantheon,” Gabriel admitted. “Few of my children actually are, but this one…” She shrugged. “Demigod at best.” _Nephilim._

“I see.” Kali scrutinized Gabriel for another minute before turning around again and continuing down the hall. “You will keep your hands off the local virgins while you’re here. And the non-virgins, while you’re at it. This is not your place. If I find you’ve been messing with my people, I will make you regret it.”

 _Will you set me on fire?_ Gabriel bit back the request, simply nodding her understanding. “The, ah, others in your pantheon?”

“Like Shiva, they follow my example. If I say you are welcome here, you are welcome here.” Kali stopped and pushed a door open. “This will be your room. Someone will fetch you for meals, if you wish to eat.”

Gabriel didn’t bother explaining that she didn’t need to eat—most gods didn’t. Tricksters were actually a rare exception, but with an angel inside, Loki didn’t actually need sweets the way he ordinarily did. Gabriel ate to keep up appearances, but she hadn’t been bothering these past few months. Food held no interest for her. “Thank you.”

Kali had swept off down the hall before Gabriel had even entered her room. She was surprised at how empty it actually was. There was a stone cot tucked against one wall, a cupboard against another, and a low table against a third. The fourth wall opened onto a small balcony. The walls were completely painted with intricate murals, and the tile floor was liberally covered with woven rugs and soft bolsters, but there was nothing else in the room.

There wasn’t a fireplace.

Gabriel winced at the realization, pressing the heel of her palm against her forehead. A throbbing headache was starting to build, a sure sign that the Nephilim wasn’t happy. For something not even fully grown, it certainly was demanding.

Hours later, Kali found Gabriel curled into a corner of the balcony. Her wings were stretched out and hanging limply over the railing, but everything else was curled around the agonizing ache in her womb. She cracked her eyes open when she heard Kali approach, but she couldn’t even find it in her to force a smile over her face for the goddess. The sun and the steadiness of the ground beneath her had helped some, but the Nephilim was still raging inside her, taking out its anger on her grace. As quickly as she absorbed energy from the distant star, the Nephilim devoured it.

“You did not answer the noon summons,” Kali said, one set of arms folded, another planted firmly on her hips. Gabriel just let her eyes slide shut again. She hadn’t even _heard_ a summons.

If Raphael found her now, he’d probably spare her life just to prolong her suffering.

Something almost like concern had crept into the edges of Kali’s voice when she spoke again, softening her words. “You aren’t well.” She knelt beside Gabriel, and one of her hands touched Gabriel’s forehead.

Grace immediately latched on to the goddess, and Gabriel groaned in relief as the Nephilim accepted this new source of energy. Kali’s power flooded her grace faster than the baby could eat it, and Gabriel slowly began to stir.

“Why do you react so strongly to my touch?” Kali demanded, though she didn’t pull away. She was _offering_ , Gabriel realized. Being maternal.

Gabriel licked her lips and coughed, clearing her throat. “Fire,” she finally answered the goddess. “I… have roots in fire, in my early days.”

Loki didn’t. There was a giant named _Logi_ who was associated with fire, and the similarity of the names and complete lack of any genuine history for Loki had led to a lot of confusion (Gabriel was quite proud of that particular knot of knowledge), but truthfully, Loki didn’t have any connection with fire or flames of any kind. Kali had no way of knowing that, though, unless she had been unusually invested in the early days of a distant pantheon.

“Your fire is weak,” Kali surmised. “You need mine.”

“This,” _abomination,_ “child drains me,” Gabriel confessed, lifting a hand and letting it fall limp over her belly. “I think it wants to kill me.”

“Hmm…” With a jangle of bracelets, Kali placed another hand on Gabriel’s belly, eliciting another groan from the angel. With two points of contact now, the energy was flooding in at twice the rate as before. Gabriel was soon able to sit up, opening her eyes fully and watching the goddess in front of her. Kali’s eyes were glittering as she prodded the Nephilim’s soul. Gabriel held her breath, wondering if Kali would see through the lies and realize the infant within was nothing like a god at all, but the child of an angel.

“When did you last eat?” Kali finally asked, looking up at Gabriel. “You missed lunch.”

Gabriel shook her head. “I haven’t… not since it…”

“You’re an idiot,” Kali intoned, pulling both her hands away and making Gabriel whine in protest. “You’re a _Trickster_. You need to keep yourself energized.”

 _Don’t,_ Gabriel thought petulantly.

“And the child is _demi_ ,” Kali continued, unaware of Gabriel’s thoughts. “Half Trickster, half human. _Both_ sides need to eat.”

_Oh._

That… made a lot of sense, Gabriel realized. She could keep Loki alive with her grace, but the Nephilim was graceless. It had no way of sustaining its human side. Without food, it drew from the only thing it had access to, Gabriel’s grace. Not only was a powerful creature trying to create itself inside her, but Gabriel had also put herself in a very grace-weakening state for six months. Even her massive amount of grace had a limit, and the Nephilim had found it.

“I’ve been starving it.”

Kali huffed, holding out two hands to help Gabriel to her feet. “Some fertility goddess you’re turning out to be,” she scolded. Was that a gentleness in her eye? “Come along, Loki. You need to be eating for two now.”


	23. Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kali is certainly being helpful, but Gabriel is still grieving.

### Alone

Once Gabriel started eating again, she found she couldn’t stop. She inhaled everything Kali put in front of her from rice to curry to poli. The rich spices flavoring every dish made her grin in delight, but more importantly, the food soothed the Nephilim inside her. By the end of the first evening of eating, the pain in her belly had lessened to a dull ache, and after twenty-four hours of largely doing nothing _but_ eating, even that ache was gone.

Gabriel finally sat back with a sigh of relief, smoothing one hand over the fabric of her dress pulled tightly over her extended stomach. Kali was sitting near her. She had been watching Gabriel eat with an amused little smile on her face, keeping up a steady supply of food for the starving angel. “Better?” the goddess asked.

Gabriel nodded sheepishly, glancing sideways at Kali. “ _Thank you_ ,” she stressed, trying to pour her sincerest gratitude into those words. Maybe the Nephilim wouldn’t have managed to sap all of her strength. Maybe, on dry land, Gabriel could have survived the entire pregnancy. Maybe. But she didn’t have to worry any more. In just two days, Kali had assuaged her fears about carrying a Nephilim inside her. The child was content with the offering of food, and Gabriel’s grace was already well on its way to recovery.

“I thought you had children before.” Kali’s remark was off-handed, but her eyes were shrewd. She was trying to piece together the mystery of Loki. Gabriel had to tread carefully so as not to tip her hand to the goddess.

“Despite the rumors, I’m usually the father. I only ever bore Sleipnir, and he was…” Gabriel shook her head as if remembering. “It wasn’t like this.”

 _With Sleipnir, I ate like a horse!_ Loki’s voice whispered through Gabriel’s mind as the god stirred inside her.

 _With Sleipnir, you **were** a horse!_ Gabriel retorted without letting her external expression flicker.

Loki chuckled inside Gabriel’s mind as Kali accepted the words, mulling them over. Honestly, Gabriel had nothing to compare this pregnancy to. As far as she knew, no angel had ever _born_ a Nephilim. They were always in male vessels, with a human female carrying the child. Lucifer had done more with the Nephilim than any of Heaven’s angels. Gabriel knew a thousand ways to kill one, but she didn’t know if their births killed their human mothers, or if the women had been able to endure.

The humans certainly wouldn’t have forgotten to eat, at least.

“We should get you some new clothes,” Kali declared, letting her eyes drop to Gabriel’s hand over her belly. “That dress is not meant for an expectant mother.”

“I can just…” Gabriel snapped her fingers, changing the dress so it fit her new body shape better, modeling it after the dresses she had seen other women wear. Recharged from the food, it was easy again to manipulate reality.

“You are such a man.” Kali rolled her eyes and shook her head, rising to her feet. She offered Gabriel her hands again to help her off the floor, which Gabriel appreciated. Apparently even angels had a hard time getting up and down while pregnant. “If you are going to stay here, you need to wear something more suitable for the climate.”

“I like the heat,” Gabriel protested, but she trailed after Kali again like a little duckling, eager to see what the goddess would provide.

Gabriel eventually ended up wrapped in a white silk sari embroidered in gold similar to the one Kali wore. The goddess had shown her several ways of draping the fabric around her belly, either covering it or showing it off. Gabriel had opted for covering it completely, not wanting to see what the Nephilim was doing to Sorcha’s familiar shape.

Over the next two months, Kali seldom left Gabriel’s side during the day, and Thorn always bounded along at her feet. They became a familiar sight in Bombay, where Kali frequently visited with the women of the city. At first, Gabriel was blatantly stared at while standing at Kali’s side, with the women whispering among themselves over the color of Gabriel’s hair and skin. When Gabriel, fed up with the gossiping as if she couldn’t hear, opened her mouth to retort, the whispers turned into shock. As Heaven’s Messenger, Gabriel spoke every human tongue flawlessly. While in Bombay, Gabriel spoke Marathi, the local native language. Apparently, no one as pale as Gabriel had ever mastered Marathi before, and she was a novelty in a new way.

With a shared language came understanding. Once the women realized they could talk to Gabriel, they flocked around her, asking questions about her home and pressing their hands against her belly. The growing Nephilim apparently reveled in the attention, lashing out with strong kicks that made Gabriel wince and the women laugh.

“Do they realize who you are?” Gabriel murmured to Kali on one of these outings, as some of the women danced and clapped while the rest watched. “Do they know who _I_ am?”

“To some degree,” Kali answered. She was reclining on her side as she watched the dancers, with Gabriel resting against her stomach—it was too hard to sit on the ground now without some form of support. Kali’s hand was draped possessively over Gabriel’s belly, feeling the Nephilim’s stirring and kicks.

Kali did that frequently, Gabriel noted, found reasons to touch her. She spoke to the Nephilim too, addressed it as if it were another person in the room with them. Sometimes, in the evening, Kali sang to the unborn child. Gabriel didn’t understand why. _She_ did everything she could to ignore the creature. It might be carrying a piece of Fergus’ soul, but right now, it was only a reminder of how much Gabriel had lost. Still, Kali was her hostess, and Gabriel wouldn’t begrudge the goddess anything she felt necessary to fulfill her new ‘maternal’ urges.

“They know I am a goddess, but they deny it at the same time. They call me Kali, but they do not believe me to be _Kali_. In many ways, they see me as just another of their number, a common woman, and yet they are always aware that I am eternally above them. Likely, they feel the same towards you.”

“I see,” Gabriel mused, eyeing the women thoughtfully. “Tell me about this dance?”

Kali’s fingers stroked idly over Gabriel’s stomach as she looked back toward the dancers. “Pallavi is looking for her lover,” she said, explaining quietly with small gestures to indicate which dancer she was referring to. “Urvi and Madhul are trying to help her look, but he is missing. They were in the garden, but he was not there. They went to the river, but he was not there. Now they are on the mountain, and he is not there. Pallavi is distraught. See, now she is lamenting to the gods, begging them to restore him to her. He is not the strongest, or the bravest, or the smartest, but he is hers, and she loves him dearly.”

_He is hers._

_I was his._

“Excuse me,” Gabriel murmured, attempting to get to her feet. She brushed off Kali’s attempts to help, instead using her own wings to prop herself up. “No, you can stay. I’ll be back at the house. I just… I’ll be at the house.”

_I was his._

Kali gave Gabriel more time to grieve than she had expected, not returning until well after the sun had set. Gabriel was sitting under a plumeria tree in Kali’s garden, one arm wrapped around it, leaning against the sturdy trunk. Thorn was curled up in a little ball at her side, his nose tucked into his tail, paw occasionally twitching as he dreamt. Kali glided effortlessly through the soft grasses, her bare feet completely silent in the garden, but Gabriel sensed her approach anyway. She waited until the goddess was seated beside her before turning her head and nodding slightly to acknowledge Kali. Kali gave a small nod back and folded her hands in her lap.

For three hours, the two simply sat together, watching the stars appear and revolve through the heavens. Gabriel tipped her head back to watch one fall, the bright light streaking across the sky just like a falling angel.

“I miss him.” Gabriel closed her eyes as the confession slipped out unbidden, one hand curling around her belly.

Kali’s attention turned back to Gabriel, an almost palpable presence, but the goddess remained silent, waiting for Gabriel to continue. She could talk if she wanted to, or she could fall quiet again. Kali wouldn’t press either way.

“The father,” Gabriel clarified. “He wasn’t… it wasn’t… _I_ wasn’t…” She wanted to talk, but the words were jumbling up inside her, catching on an all-too-familiar lump in her throat and refusing to emerge. “I just…”

“It wasn’t a difficult cycle,” Kali murmured, cutting through the muddle to find the truth. “No human made you love him.”

“ _He_ made me love him.” Fergus, with his dark eyes and his bright smile, swam up in Gabriel’s memory. The way Fergus would lean against her shoulder, laugh at her jokes, catch her hand and just _run_ , run so hard and fast across the moors that it was almost as good as flying… there had been a thousand little things about _Fergus_ that the angel had fallen in love with, on top of everything about him that had been _Cariel_. 

“What happened to him?”

“He died.” Gabriel’s voice hitched at the last word, and she turned against the trunk of the tree, the rough bark hiding her face. “I had to leave him for a time, and when I returned, it was too late. Demons had…” Kali made a disgusted noise at the mention of demons, understanding what their involvement meant. “I couldn’t save him. All I could do was make his last night on Earth something amazing.”

“Does he know you carry his child?”

Gabriel shook her head. “I didn’t tell him. I wanted… I just wanted to save him, save a piece of him. But I didn’t think it through… this _thing_ is going to be a monster, an abomination.”

“It will also be your child.” One of Kali’s hands stroked Gabriel’s hair, hanging unbound and curly down her back, while a second found its way to Gabriel’s belly, covering the angel’s hand. “ _Your_ child, yours and his. Do you not love Sleipnir? Is not Fenrir your son? Does Hel never cross your mind?”

Loki’s children were all considered abominations, Gabriel knew, but that was just it. They were _Loki’s_ children, not hers. She could care for them because she had no part in creating them. She looked after them as best she could, for Loki’s sake, but she didn’t love them the way he did.

Could _any_ angel love a Nephilim? The last time Nephilim walked the Earth, Lucifer rounded them up and raised them in Hell. He had been proud of his half-angelic army, but he hadn’t loved them. Had their angelic parents stepped in to raise them, or were they simply reared as little brothers, like the angels themselves had been?

Could Gabriel find it in herself to be called _Father_? Would that be presuming too much, claiming a title formerly reserved for God alone?

“There is more to this than you are telling me,” Kali stated, after Gabriel remained silent. It wasn’t a demand for more answers, just a simple acknowledgement that she couldn’t pass judgment without knowing more of the story. Kali curled two right arms around Gabriel’s side, tugging her gently away from the tree. Reluctantly, Gabriel transferred her cling from the unyielding trunk to Kali’s softer, warmer body.

“I am alone, Kali,” Gabriel murmured against the goddess’ shoulder. “I was… my brothers have driven me far from home.” Loki had brothers, and they didn’t always get along. This wasn’t too suspicious. “And not even for… if they knew what I had done with him, with Fergus, they never would have let me escape with my life.” She rested her hand on her belly, between her body and Kali’s.

 _Technically_ , angels were forbidden from lying with human _women_. Fergus had been a human man. Technically, a loophole existed, and Gabriel loved loopholes.

Realistically, it was a loophole Raphael would never allow her. Regardless of the genders, Gabriel had lain with a human with the intent to create a Nephilim. She had _created_ a Nephilim. She carried the proof inside her. By allowing this child to be born, Gabriel had added yet another death sentence upon her head. What was she up to now? Neglecting her duties, turning her back on Heaven, _fleeing_ Heaven (for those were two different charges in the angelic code of conduct), resisting capture, attacking an angel of the Host (even though Barachiel had complied willingly, erasing his memories while she was a fugitive would be seen as a hostile action), and now creating a Nephilim. She was dead six times over if her brothers ever caught her. Heaven’s gates were forever barred to her.

Heaven’s gates were _barred_ to her. She could never go home.

_She could never go home._

Gabriel’s breath caught in her throat, and she clutched at Kali, her fingers digging in to the goddess’ sari and wrinkling the silk. She was dizzy, the world spun around her, and her wings were shivering uncontrollably against her back. She had defied the will of Heaven _six times_ , and now she was alone, _alone_ with a monster inside her body and Cariel burning in Hell, never to be at her side again, never to stand back to back or shoulder to shoulder, and she was _alone_ and-

“Loki!” Kali had Gabriel by the waist and shoulders now, shaking her gently. “Loki, snap out of it. You are _not_ alone. You are here. With me. You are not alone. Whatever your brothers did, they are no match for me. I am _Kali_. Look at me, Loki. Listen to me. Trust me.”

“Kali, I…” Gabriel’s words were faint, without any breath behind them, as she fought to reign in the terror that was paralyzing her limbs. “I, you don’t-”

“ _You are not alone._ ” Kali’s words radiated with power, cutting through Gabriel’s panic to resonate against her core.

“Not…?” Gabriel asked weakly, lifting her eyes to Kali’s.

Kali leaned in, her hair brushing against Gabriel’s cheeks as her lips touched the angel’s. “Not alone,” she repeated against Gabriel’s mouth.

Gabriel lifted one trembling hand to curl it around Kali’s neck, pulling her in for another kiss. “Not alone?”

“Not alone.”


	24. Birth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There comes a time in every expectant mother’s life when the baby needs to come out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't ever do to your baby what Gabriel does to hers. Your baby will not be a half-angel Nephilim. It will be much more fragile.

### Birth

As dawn was breaking, Gabriel slipped out of Kali’s bed. She loosely wrapped her sari around her, going without the choli or petticoat usually worn beneath the draped fabric, and stepped out onto Kali’s balcony. The rising sun traced her face with its warm rays, and she smiled, resting her elbows on the railing and leaning into its caress.

Last night had been interesting. Almost unbearable. She had never bothered to think about the consequences of running away from Heaven before. Oh, sure, there had been that seven-year panic attack as soon as she sensed Raphael returning to Heaven and no longer had a purpose for her life, but that had been more about a lack of orders than a lack of a home. In over a thousand years of self-imposed exile, Gabriel had always assumed she would be allowed to return when her brothers stopped fighting. Last night had been the first time it had ever occurred to her that in running away, she genuinely had turned her back on everything.

“It’s too late now,” Gabriel murmured, smoothing one hand down and over her stomach. Even if Michael forgave her escape—it _had_ benefited Heaven in the end… probably—he would never forgive her this child. She could explain it had been the only way to save Cariel, and he would look upon her with pity and love, but not forgiveness. The Nephilim were abominations, even this unborn one. Michael could not bend that law for her.

“The day has only just begun.” Kali’s murmur was low and quiet in Gabriel’s ear, her arms slipping around the angel. Two encircled her hips, supporting her belly, while a third rested over Gabriel’s and a fourth lay across the railing beside Gabriel’s elbow. “Calmer now?”

“Am I allowed to blame hormones?” Gabriel pushed away from the railing to fall back against Kali’s warm body, closing her eyes and letting the goddess hold her. 

Last night… last night had been exactly what Gabriel had needed. The goddess was no angel, but she _was_ one of the great old ones. Her soul had danced with Gabriel’s spirit, crowding out a loneliness Gabriel hadn’t even realized had crept over her. Angels were not meant to be alone, but Gabriel had been isolating herself ever since she had kil… ever since Fergus died. Kali had taken her into her arms, into her bed, and Gabriel had felt whole again, for the moment.

“Perhaps.” Kali rubbed her hands over Gabriel’s stomach, and the Nephilim kicked under her touch. Kali smiled. “You have quite a fighter in there, Loki. Not much longer now.”

“I can’t wait.” There was a decided lack of eagerness in Gabriel’s voice. She wanted the Nephilim out of her body, wanted to be able to reclaim Loki’s usual form, but at the same time, she was scared of what that would mean. While the creature was inside her, she could control it. Once the Nephilim broke free, it _was_ free. Free to develop into a monster, to make a mockery of what little of Cariel Gabriel had managed to save.

Kali made a frustrated noise against Gabriel’s bare shoulder. “You’re brooding again. I can’t stand brooding.”

“I’m not brooding!”

“You’re starting to.” Kali drew away from Gabriel but kept hold of her hand, turning her as she backed away. “Come back to bed. Clearly, I didn’t do a good enough job the first time…”

With Kali’s support, Gabriel barely had time to think about what would happen after the Nephilim was born over the next few weeks. As impressive as they were, though, Kali’s distractions couldn’t stop the inevitable. Gabriel was sitting by the ornamental pond, watching the fish dart through the clear water, when she felt the first twinge low in her back. Frowning, the angel massaged her stomach. “Are you moving again?” she asked. The Nephilim had been twisting and stretching within her over the past two weeks, sinking lower in her body. It seemed to take great pleasure in attempting to kick through her spine. Thankfully, the baby was nowhere near strong enough to break an angel’s back.

That was when the tightening started. Gabriel gave a little groan, cradling her stomach in both hands as it felt like an invisible fist had formed around her, slowly squeezing harder and harder and not letting up and she couldn’t breathe _she couldn’t breathe_ and then it was gone. Gabriel sucked in a hasty breath, belatedly remembering that she didn’t actually _need_ to breathe.

“Loki?” Kali was returning with some fruit on a plate, frowning a little as she approached. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes.” Gabriel lifted her eyes to Kali, praying the goddess would know what was happening. “I just felt… everything felt tight all of a sudden.”

Kali set the plate down, crouching beside Gabriel, and touched her hands over the angel’s stomach. “Has the baby-”

Whatever Kali was going to say was lost as another bout of tightness came over Gabriel, harder this time, longer. “ _Kali_!” Gabriel gasped when it was over, squeezing her eyes shut.

“I think it’s time.” Kali stood up quickly. “Try to get inside. I’ll call for Sinivali.”

“Who?” Gabriel asked, but she was too slow. Kali was already gone. At her feet, Thorn whined in concern, his tail thumping the ground. The angel groaned and pushed with her wings to get herself to her feet again. Everything felt _off_. She felt wrong, all over.

Gabriel managed to make it to her room, though she had to stop three times for more of the tight spells ( _Contractions_ , Gabriel realized. _These must be contractions._ ). By the time Kali reappeared with a short, pleasant-looking goddess, Gabriel was more than ready to be done with this whole birth thing.

“Hello, Loki,” the second goddess said, brushing sweaty curls out of Gabriel’s face as she rubbed her other hand over Gabriel’s stomach. “I’m Sinivali. I’ll make sure this child comes out quickly, don’t you fret.”

“Sinivali is the goddess of easy birth in our pantheon,” Kali informed Gabriel, moving around to her head.

“Nice that you have one of those,” Gabriel gasped out. “We just have all childbirth.”

“It’s an honor to be helping a goddess of another pantheon,” Sinivali said. “Let’s just see how far along you are already, shall we?”

Sinivali barely had time to get between Gabriel’s legs before another contraction was making her cry out in pain, her body arching off the bed as best it could. Kali reached down and took Gabriel’s hands in her own, while Sinivali just smiled reassuringly up at her. “Looks like this baby is ready to come out, with or without me!”

“Feels that way,” Gabriel managed to say before she was shouting through another contraction. Kali’s expression didn’t even flinch as Gabriel crushed the bones of her hands in her grip. She’d have to apologize for that later. Once the child was born.

Sinivali’s calm voice cut through Gabriel’s pain, giving her clear commands. Orders. Gabriel could do orders. She could push, she could breathe, and she could scream.

That last one wasn’t an order, but Gabriel couldn’t really control it. She could _feel_ the Nephilim moving within her, trying to come out, and the pain was almost the worst thing she had ever felt. It ranked right up there with having Lucifer’s icy grace freezing her solid, then snapping her fingers off, or with having the entire Host and Father torn from her spirit and then shoved back in, or almost as bad as when she killed… when Fergus died. In any case, screaming helped, and her voice climbed higher and higher until it broke through Loki’s throat and her true voice rang out, angelic harmonics shattering every piece of glass within two miles. Gabriel managed to slam a hand over her own mouth, staring guiltily up at Kali. Mercifully, Kali only raised an eyebrow and said nothing.

“One more push, Loki, you can do it!” Sinivali encouraged. Gabriel bit her hand to keep from screaming again and bore down as hard as she could.

Almost immediately, the pressure and pain was gone, and Gabriel could breathe again. She sobbed with relief, falling back against the bed, her eyes shut tightly. The Nephilim was _out_. She could feel it in Sinilavi’s arms, a separate entity now, but she didn’t care. It was out. Her body was her own again. The monster, the _taint_ , was gone.

Kali worked her hands free from Gabriel’s grip and moved around to take the baby from Sinilavi. Gabriel distractedly tracked their movements with her grace but didn’t look too hard. She floated on a sea of relief, her entire body relaxing.

“Do you want to hold her?”

Gabriel wasn’t sure how long she’d zoned out before Kali’s words pulled her back to the present. Slowly, she opened her eyes to look up at the goddess. In her arms was a little blanket-wrapped bundle. The Nephilim. Gabriel frowned.

“She’s not a monster. She looks completely normal.” Kali sat beside the bed, using four free arms to push pillows behind Gabriel’s back, propping her up. Without waiting for Gabriel’s consent, Kali transferred the baby against Gabriel’s chest. The angel instinctively reached up, folding her arms protectively around the small bundle before it could fall.

“Congratulations,” the goddess said, sitting back far enough so Gabriel couldn’t pass the newborn back to her. “You have a daughter.”

The baby snuffled and whined a little, but she didn’t cry out. She nosed against Gabriel’s neck, all red and damp and curled up. Her eyes were squinched tightly shut, but she had a head full of dark hair. Tiny little fingers spasmed against Gabriel’s skin, not coordinated enough to grab or hold, not yet. She was, to all outward appearances, a completely normal human baby. She even felt completely normal in Gabriel’s arms, her soul radiating the purity of a newborn human’s innocence. This child did not _feel_ evil to Gabriel. She couldn’t sense any homicidal tendencies in the infant’s aura.

Gabriel never felt it in adult Nephilims either. That was one reason they made such efficient angel-killing soldiers. They could _hide_. This little one was still defenseless. Gabriel could kill her now, easily. She _should_ kill her now, as penance for bringing her into this world.

The angel smoothed one hand up the baby’s back, resting it over her fragile neck. One squeeze, one snap, and even the two goddesses in the room wouldn’t be able to react quick enough to save the Nephilim, the _last_ Nephilim.

“Are you going to follow the Hindu rites for a new baby?” Kali’s voice startled Gabriel out of her dark thoughts, drawing the angel’s attention away from the infant for the moment.

“Would you be horribly offended if I said no?” Gabriel’s voice was light, a bit worn out from the exertion she had just gone through, but not at all the tones of a mother contemplating infanticide. Loki’s throat felt raw, scoured from the inside out by Gabriel’s true voice, but already the angel was piecing her body back together.

“Not at all,” Kali answered. “You are not Hindu. I couldn’t ask you to renounce your own beliefs for mine.”

“Thank you.”

“But in that case… will you tell me what you were thinking of naming her?” Kali smiled. “Patience has never been one of my virtues.”

“I… haven’t.” Gabriel looked back down at the newborn cuddled against her skin.

“Haven’t?”

“Haven’t thought of any names.” Angels were always named by their Father. Humans came with names given to them by other members of their families. Even Thorn had been named by Fergus. Gabriel had never had the occasion to pick a name for another life. She hadn’t spent a moment giving thought to what she would name this Nephilim.

“I could suggest some.” Kali watched the infant thoughtfully, tapping sharp nails against the floor. “Ashmita? Toral? Sadhika?”

“What about Pallavi?” Sinilavi suggested. “A pretty name for a pretty girl?”

Gabriel had to name this child, or at least pretend to. She shook her head at the goddess’ suggestions. “With all due respect, I think I should choose something more European.”

“Of course,” Sinilavi said, understandingly. “Norse?”

“No, nothing antiquated.” Gabriel made herself stroke the baby’s hair, and then she did it again just because. The fine strands of hair were soft and silky beneath her fingertips. “I don’t know how long she will live, but if she has anything resembling an immortal life, she will need to move frequently. I’d want to give her a name she could keep.”

“Something common,” Kali agreed. “Simple.”

“Something like John, had she been a boy,” Gabriel mused, trying to think of common female names. “Or Mary…” No, not Mary. Gabriel had _liked_ Mary. She wouldn’t name this abomination after Jesus’ mother.

“What about Jane?” Sinilavi asked. “That’s similar to John, isn’t it?”

“Jane,” Gabriel repeated slowly, trying the name out. The baby wiggled in Gabriel’s hands, lifting her head a fraction of an inch. “I suppose she likes it.”

“Jane Lokadóttir,” Kali said, testing the sound. “I approve.”

“Good.” Gabriel looked down as the baby squirmed again, distracted by the infant. “I’m glad. Could I… could I have a minute with Jane? Alone?”

“Of course.” Sinilavi immediately rose to her feet, beckoning for Kali to follow. The more powerful goddess was less pleased to leave, but she allowed Gabriel her privacy.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Gabriel pulled the child away from her chest. The Nephilim was wrapped in a loose linen blanket, and she kicked and fussed at being removed from Gabriel’s heat. “Look at me,” Gabriel ordered. The baby whined and kicked again, managing to get one foot out of the folds of her blanket. She cracked big blue eyes open, staring off in two different directions. Gabriel growled under her breath and gave the child a slight shake, commanding with her “boss voice,” as Cariel used to call it. “ _Look at me_!”

Silver light, like the moon, shone out through the newborn’s pupils and washed out her entire eyes. The bright pinpricks of starlight at the center focused on Gabriel, and the baby stilled, studying her mother. _Nephilim_. If Gabriel had harbored any doubts (she hadn’t), this display would have put them all to rest.

“You are helpless right now,” Gabriel told the Nephilim. “Defenseless. You _need_ me to survive. Do you understand that? I hold your life in my hands. Cross me at your own peril.”

The baby’s tiny brow furrowed deeply as she frowned, her head cocking to the side in a move that was entirely angelic. She was still staring at Gabriel with those silver eyes. The last time Gabriel had looked into eyes like that, she had effectively been committing genocide. The last time Gabriel had looked into eyes like that, their owner would have gladly taken her own life.

But then the Nephilim did something Gabriel hadn’t expected. She reached down with one little hand, patted Gabriel’s thumb where it laid across her chest, and she _cooed_. With that little sound, her young soul-like spirit flared up, stretching as far as it could to brush against Gabriel’s grace. It offered her a spark, a jolt that was simultaneously Gabriel and Cariel and someone entirely new. It wasn’t hostile. It wasn’t a threat.

It was love.

This Nephilim, this baby, _Jane_ , was _hers_. She was Gabriel’s child, Gabriel’s and Cariel’s, something they had made _together_ , something made from _them_ , from both of them, from an Archangel and her lieutenant. There had been no room for hatred when they made Jane. They had loved each other, and Jane was born from that love, from that desperate desire to hold Cariel close and never let him go.

Gabriel pulled Jane in against her core, wrapping her in her arms and all her wings, curling around the fragile little body. “I’m sorry,” she whispered against the baby’s hair. Jane closed her glowing eyes and snuggled in close against Gabriel’s grace. “I’m sorry. I do love you. I _do_. You’re my daughter, and his daughter, and we’re going to figure this out together. Your father’s not around to help us, but for his sake, I’m going to love you all your life, and all of mine. I promise. I _promise_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may want to look up Jane in a Supernatural wiki...


	25. Growing Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Children grow up so fast. Nephilim are no exception.

### Growing Up

Jane had been in this world independently of Gabriel for a year now, and Gabriel was more than ready to stop being Jane’s mother. She had stayed female to nurse her daughter, as Sinilavi had warned that nothing, not even magic, could compare to a mother’s milk for the first few months. Jane was a year old today, though, and Gabriel was watching her sleep in her cradle in the much more comfortable form of Loki’s male self. Maintaining the female body had required a constant, low hum of energy, but _this_ , this was effortless.

Gabriel was no longer Jane’s mother, but he was ready to be called Jane’s father. Or maybe not. Father was still too intimidating a title. That was for God. Dad? No… while more informal, it was still a way Gabriel referred to his father, the Lord of All. Papa, maybe? He could probably live with papa. Gabriel smiled to himself, reaching down to brush Jane’s dark hair out of her eyes. _Papa._

“Who are you… Loki?”

Gabriel twisted to see Kali standing in the doorway. The goddess’ eyes were narrowed, six of her hands ready to hurl fire or spells his way if he was a threat. Gabriel just gave her his best cheeky smile, holding up his hands to show he wasn’t hurting Jane. “In the flesh, Kali. The real flesh, this time. What do you think?”

Kali lowered her hands slowly, but she kept the suspicious look on her face. She strode into the room and circled around Gabriel, inspecting his body from all sides.

“I was hoping for something a little taller,” she finally said.

Gabriel laughed quietly, so as not to wake Jane, shaking his head. “Oh Kali, the number of times I’ve heard that… Size _really_ doesn’t matter.” As Kali raised one eyebrow challengingly, Gabriel smiled smoothly, holding out his hand to her. “It’s what you _do_ with it.”

“And what can you do with it?” Kali asked, slipping one of her hands into Gabriel’s.

“Let me show you…” Gabriel pressed a kiss to Kali’s fingertips before leading her out of Jane’s room.

Jane grew up quickly, so quickly. Days that had once dragged on inexorably slowly now sped past, each one marking itself on the young Nephilim with a new change. One day, Jane was pulling herself to her feet for the first time, and seemingly the next she was running through the halls of Kali’s palace, shrieking with laughter as an angel chased her with a roar. Gabriel swept the little girl off her feet, and Jane’s giggles echoed off the marble walls as he swung her around and around.

“Papa, Papa, Papa!” Jane chanted his name until he stopped, hugging her in close to his chest, two sets of wings folding around her as she snuggled close.

“I love you, Papa,” Jane declared, leaning up to press a kiss to Gabriel’s cheek before wrapping her own little arms around his neck.

Gabriel closed his eyes and nuzzled against Jane’s hair, now a dark auburn much like Fergus’ had been. “I love you too, angel. But,” Gabriel waited for Jane’s groan to finish before continuing, “ _but_ that doesn’t mean you get to stay up. It’s bedtime for little girls.”

“Do I gotta?” Jane folded her hands together and pouted up at Gabriel with huge grey eyes—her baby blues had darkened as she’d grown, and every time she looked over at Gabriel, he swore Cariel was looking out of her young face.

“Yes, you gotta.” Gabriel hoisted Jane up over his head, making her squeal and kick. “The sun has gone to bed, and so must you.”

“But the moon has only just come out to play! I want to play with the moon!”

“When you’re older.” Gabriel brought Jane in close again, setting her against his hip as he started for her room. “You need to be very big to play with the moon.”

“Big like you?”

“At least as big as me.”

“Big like Aunt Kali?”

“Big like Aunt Kali.”

“Big like Eleph… Uncle Ganesh?”

Gabriel grinned, tweaking Jane’s nose. “What did I tell you about calling him that?”

“He doesn’t like it.” Jane’s eyes sparkled with innocence.

“So what do we call him?”

“Uncle Elephant!” Jane chortled conspiratorially along with Gabriel, flinging her arms wide and trusting him to hold her.

If he’d been asked six years ago, Gabriel would have said being a father was impossible for an angel. Siring a child was easy enough, probably, but being a _father_? Only God was Father. Angels were designed to be brothers, nothing more. He never could have anticipated how easy being a father came to him. Jane needed his help, and he gave it. It felt second-nature now to help her redo the buttons of her nightgown when she missed one, or to watch over her as she cleaned her teeth and washed her face. Tucking her into her little nest of cushions was a familiar and well-loved ritual now, and so was sitting down beside her bed and stroking her braided hair as he told a tale of two brothers, Balthazar and Castiel, and all the trouble they’d get into. Jane giggled and gasped at the retelling of the misadventures of Heaven’s most troublesome partnership, and when Balthazar and Castiel ran back home at the end of the day to tuck themselves in bed and go to sleep, their mischief managed and troubles put to rest, Jane hugged her arms around Thorn, who always slept with his little lady, and snuggled under her light blankets. Gabriel leaned over to kiss her cheek, and Jane smiled sleepily up at him, her eyelids struggling open. “Good night, Papa.”

“Good night, Jane. Sleep well.” Gabriel caressed her cheek one last time before getting to his feet and turning out the oil lamp that hung from the ceiling. He closed her bedroom door behind him all but a crack and headed down the hall toward another familiar bedroom. Kali had been gone for a month, attending to her duties, but she had returned earlier this morning and all but ordered Gabriel into her room for the night.

Kali was reclining against her own pillows, paging through a richly illustrated book propped against her knees and looking thoughtful. She glanced up as Gabriel entered the room, a smoldering heat reflected in her eyes. “Jane in bed?”

“And already fast asleep.” Gabriel toed off his shoes and headed toward the goddess. “Did I mention I missed you yet?”

“It may have come out, once or twice.” Kali reached out, catching the loose cotton of his shirt in one hand to yank him in close for a kiss. Gabriel came easily, cupping her face in his hands as he let himself revel in the touch of another immensely powerful being. He was able to find comfort in Jane’s presence, but not like this. Never like this.

“Yeah,” Gabriel breathed when they broke apart. “Yeah, definitely missed you.”

Kali smirked as she settled back against the cushions, still holding her book open. “You are still deliciously smitten with me.”

Gabriel snorted, pulling off his kurta before settling onto the cushions beside her, his arm slipping around her shoulders. “Kali, your people turned sex into an _art form_ ,” he reminded her, gesturing toward the book she held—a rare, hand-painted version of the _Kama Sutra_. “I’d be an idiot to not still follow you around.”

“And don’t you forget it.” Kali shifted the book over so Gabriel could see it. “I was thinking about trying this out tonight.”

“ _That_ one?” Gabriel asked, pointing at one of the illustrations of a very happy couple locked together in a passionate embrace. “Kali, I know I’m flexible, but I don’t know if that’s actually possible while you still possess a functioning spine.”

“Are you scared of a little backbend?”

“I wouldn’t call that a _little_ bend!”

Now it was Kali’s turn for a derisive snort, adjusting the book. “ _I_ can do it.”

“Well then, how about we switch positions for that, and I’ll be on top?”

“What, not manly enough to contort yourself for me? I’m disappointed.”

“Are you seriously trying to insult my masculinity?” Gabriel asked, barely restraining a laugh. “ _Mine_? Are you forgetting that I once gave birth to a horse? I highly doubt there’s anything you can say or do that could possibly injure it any further.”

“Oh, we’ll see about that…” The book was finally discarded as Kali twisted into Gabriel’s lap, all her hands coming into play as she kissed Gabriel again. Gabriel had to make do with only two hands of his own, reaching up for the end of Kali’s sari and pulling it off her shoulder…

“Papa?”

Both Kali and Gabriel froze at the quivering little voice. Gabriel closed his eyes, and Kali muttered _Damn_ against his chest. After clearing his throat, Gabriel eased Kali off him without exposing her to Jane, looking over to the door so he could see his daughter. “Yes, Jane?”

Jane stood in the doorway, one hand on the knob, biting her lip and rubbing one bare foot over the other. “I had a bad dream.”

Despite Gabriel sheltering Jane from the nightmares of the world as much as he could, the Nephilim still conjured up monsters in her sleep. Gabriel sighed to himself. “Was it the one with the ice, or with the fire?”

Jane shook her head. “It was the one with wings.”

Now it was Gabriel’s turn to mutter a quiet _damn_. The one with wings was the worst of all of Jane’s various nightmares, and required nothing less than Gabriel’s presence in Jane’s room for a solid hour before the girl trusted sleep again. He turned a gentle smile to Jane. “Do you need my help to go to sleep again?” Jane nodded, glancing nervously at Kali. “Okay. Why don’t you go back to your room and get your bed made up again, and I’ll be right there.”

“Okay, Papa.” Jane twisted around and scampered off. Gabriel let his head fall back against the wall with a dull _thunk_ and a groan.

“Feisty little cockblock,” Kali muttered, adjusting her clothes.

“We can try again later?” Gabriel suggested without conviction. Kali was already shaking her head.

“This _was_ later,” she reminded him. “Because Jane had the nightmare about the fire the last time I saw you. Which was itself a ‘later’ from the previous week.”

“I can’t help it if she has nightmares,” Gabriel said, already getting out of bed and grabbing his kurta to pull it back on. “She was doing so well these past couple of weeks too.”

Kali sighed, waving a dismissive hand toward Gabriel and the door. “Go, sit with her. She needs her papa more than I need my lover.”

“I am sorry,” Gabriel said, leaning over to give Kali one last kiss. “I _will_ make this up to you, somehow. I owe you.”

“Watch what you promise me, Loki,” Kali warned, though there was a trace of a smile in the corner of her mouth. “If you’re not careful, you’ll owe me the moon.” 

Gabriel smiled and left Kali’s room, heading back to Jane’s. The little girl was cuddled in her bed, her blanket pulled up to her big eyes. She jumped as Gabriel opened the door, ducking under the covers completely. Only Thorn’s tail, thumping lightly against the cushions, was visible.

“It’s okay, Jane,” Gabriel said as he flicked his fingers toward her lamp to light it. “It’s just me.” He cast a careful eye around her room, checking on all the wards he had placed years ago and constantly refreshed. Nothing was broken. Nothing had come in.

Jane heaved a sigh as she pulled the blankets down again, peeking over the top. “Are you mad, Papa?”

“I’m not mad, angel.” Gabriel knelt beside Jane’s bed and kissed her cheek, his arm sliding around her small body. She immediately scuttled over to lean against his shoulder. “I know your dreams are scary.”

“The wings are the worst,” Jane agreed, squeezing her eyes shut and nodding against Gabriel. “Cause they look like _you_ , only they’re mean and they want to kill me.”

The wings were angels, Gabriel had deduced from Jane’s various haphazard descriptions. Somehow, she had angels invading her dreams at night and absolutely terrifying her. Gabriel had silently panicked when he first realized just what, exactly, she was dreaming about, but a careful investigation of everything in Jane’s life and a liberal hand with wards around Kali’s entire property reassured Gabriel that Jane’s dreams genuinely were just that, dreams. The only real angel who had ever interacted with her was Gabriel himself. He didn’t know where the nightmares came from. Sometimes, he wondered if they were his fault—Jane dreamed of Hell, and she dreamed of being frozen and shattered, and she dreamed of angels wanting her dead, all things Gabriel knew and feared. He couldn’t explain any of this to her, though, not without risking Kali finding out the truth about him.

“The wings will never hurt you,” was what Gabriel _did_ say to Jane, hugging her against his side. “As long as I’m near, you are safe. The wings are just dreams, just bad dreams, and they have no power over you. I can always beat back the wings.”

“I know you can,” Jane said. “Because you’re awesome.”

“I’m a god,” Gabriel murmured. “Part of the job description.” Jane smiled weakly, and Gabriel sighed, kissing her hair. “How can I help you sleep, Jane?”

“Sing to me?” Jane asked, squirming even closer before reaching out to tug Thorn close to her other side so she was sandwiched between her protectors. “The wings always stay away when you sing.”

“Maybe I should sing before bed every night, then,” Gabriel suggested. He reached out to give Thorn a pat before wrapping his wings around them both. As Jane settled down, closing her eyes and curling her fingers in his shirt, Gabriel began to sing an old Celtic lullaby, one Sorcha had once sung to Artur when he was a baby. Jane might be growing up in India, but her roots were Scottish. As wonderful as Kali’s land was, full of heat and energy, Gabriel wanted to make sure his daughter knew the land of her father.

It took well over an hour and many lullabies before Jane finally fell asleep in Gabriel’s arms. The angel sat by her side, his golden wings open and held protectively around her. This was his daughter. He would die before he let something happen to her.


	26. A Time for Good-Byes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes Gabriel forgets he’s an angel on the run. Life with Heaven looking for him… it’s complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In honor of History of Heaven hitting 1,000 views, I posted a fluff one-shot of a scene that never happened but could have. Check out the series page for _Four Angels Walk Into a Café_!

### A Time for Good-Byes

The arrow came when Gabriel was in the marketplace, admiring some glass beads and debating whether or not Jane would like them. It shot past Gabriel’s ear, hissing through the air, and buried itself into the heart of a nearby young man. No one else, not even the victim, so much as blinked. Of course they wouldn’t.

Humans couldn’t see the Cupids’ arrows.

Gabriel abandoned the beads and headed straight back to Kali’s palace in the hills. Jane came running out from under a tree by one of Kali’s ponds as soon as she saw him, her arms stretched up to him for a hug. “Papa, Papa, look! Look what Aunt Kali did for me!” She spun in a circle, twirling around so Gabriel could see the pink lotus flowers braided into her hair.

“You look lovely,” Gabriel said, scooping the little girl into his arms. His wings folded around her, and Jane giggled, curling against his chest and reaching out to tug some feathers close. The first time Jane had reacted to his wings had taken Gabriel by surprise, as they were hidden from view to all others. Even Kali never gave any indication that she was aware of them. Jane, though, was never fooled by Gabriel’s veil. Gabriel figured it had to be a trait shared by Nephilim. The ancient ones he had slaughtered had all been capable of picking out hidden angels, after all. For all of Jane’s apparent innocence, she was their kin.

“You sound distracted.” Kali rose from her seat beneath the flowering tree and came out to greet him. She had a couple lotus blossoms woven inexpertly into her hair, clearly Jane’s handiwork. “Didn’t find anything in town?”

“Found too much.” Gabriel closed his eyes and pressed a kiss to Jane’s forehead before setting her down. “Why don’t you run inside and show Anit and Urvi your pretty flowers,” he suggested, “while Papa talks to Aunt Kali.”

Jane wrinkled her nose and looked skeptically up at Gabriel. “Are you going to talk _adult_ talks?”

‘Adult’ talks was code for ‘Papa and Aunt Kali are not decent right now, please wait outside the door!’ Jane, of course, didn’t know the full definition of it, but she knew that when they were having ‘adult’ talks, she wasn’t allowed to open the door. Gabriel managed a grin at her face and shook his head. “No, angel, but it’s an important talk.”

Jane continued to scrutinize Gabriel for another minute more before chirping a bright “Okay!” and running off to the house to find the two cooks Gabriel had suggested. They always had a soft spot for Jane, and Gabriel knew she would definitely weasel some sweets out of them by the time he found her again.

Kali folded her arms across her chest, giving Gabriel a similar scrutiny. “ _Important_?” she asked.

Gabriel sighed. “I think I need to leave, Kali. I’ve grown complacent, stayed in one place too long.” Even India wasn’t safe from the Cherubim’s gaze. Gabriel could only hope they didn’t think anything of the god Loki so far from his home. Gods traveled a lot these days. It wasn’t unheard of for a relatively unattached one to wander off. “Jane and I will be leaving tomorrow, first thing in the morning.”

“Why?”

Gabriel folded his own arms protectively, tipping his head back to look into the clear sky. “My brothers are getting close.”

“Let them come!” Fire danced along some of Kali’s less-substantial arms, mirroring her anger. Gabriel smiled and reached out to scoop it off her arms, letting it burn merrily in the palm of his hand. “There are precious few in this world who can match my strength. Your brothers do not count among them.”

Gabriel sighed and closed his hand, extinguishing the flames. “Unfortunately, it’s not that simple, Kali.” She still thought Gabriel’s brothers were the frost giants. She didn’t know about the angels, the Archangels, who hunted Gabriel’s movements.

“Make it that simple.” Kali narrowed her eyes. “You are my guest as long as I want you.”

“Kali, I love you. You know I do.” The angel turned to the goddess, reaching out to clasp her shoulders. But it’s…” Gabriel sighed, his head hanging low between them. How could he explain? In the eyes of an angel, Gabriel had committed some grievous sins. Anyone who sheltered him carried guilt by association. Kali was strong, but she was no match for a garrison of angels, or even for a pair of Seraphim. If Raphael saw them together, she was as good as dead. How could he convince her of the danger?

He couldn’t. Not without an explanation he couldn’t afford to give. Gabriel closed his eyes. “It’s complicated. The longer I stay in one place, the more dangerous it becomes. I can’t do that to Jane. I can’t let them find her.”

“I wouldn’t let anyone hurt her here.”

“I know.” Gabriel lifted his head to look at the goddess who chased away his loneliness, who taught Jane what it meant to be strong, who freely shared her fire with him. He traced his fingers along Kali’s face and smiled sadly at her. “But even you might not be enough to stop them. And what if they just lie in wait? She won’t stay here forever. Eventually, she’ll step out.” He shook his head, letting his hand drop. “It really is safer for us to move on.”

“Safer?”

“Kali, _please_ ,” Gabriel begged, willing the goddess to accept his not-explanation. “It’s just… it’s complicated.”

“Oh, very well,” Kali drawled, turning away from Gabriel and starting toward the kitchens. “I suppose this saves me one problem.” Already, dismissiveness was settling around the goddess, even as her fire drew inward. She was like a cat, refusing to have something forced upon her, always insisting it was her choice.

“Which problem is that?” Gabriel asked, catching up to the goddess and falling into step beside her.

“You’ve been bored.”

“And that’s a problem?”

Kali gave Gabriel a dry, sideways look. “When you’re bored, you take it out on my people.”

“No one has died!” Gabriel protested.

“Yet.” Kali held up a finger in his direction. “No one has died _yet_. We both know it’s only a matter of time before someone does.”

“True.”

“So it’s for the best that you’re leaving. And not coming back.”

Not coming back hadn’t been part of Gabriel’s original plan. He opened his mouth in protest against Kali’s challenging glare, but any argument he could have offered was interrupted by a much younger voice.

“Papa, Papa, Papa!”

Jane burst out of the kitchens, her clasped hands full of savory vadas which she offered up to the two adults. “Anit and Urvi thought my flowers were lovely!”

“Thank you, Jane,” Gabriel said, setting aside his discussion with Kali to smile at Jane and accept some of the treats from his daughter. “And what do you say to Aunt Kali?”

“Thank you for doing up my hair so pretty, Aunt Kali!” Jane whirled to face the goddess, thrusting the vadas at her. “I got these for you both when you were done with your important talks!”

“Thank you, Jane,” Kali said, accepting some of the snacks, dismissing the earlier conversation just as effortlessly.

“Jane, Aunt Kali and I need to talk to you.” Gabriel crouched down to put himself on the girl’s level. After a moment, Kali did the same.

Jane frowned, looking between the two warily. “I didn’t do it,” she began hesitantly. “Unless it’s about the fountain. But I still didn’t do that.”

“The red water?” Kali asked dryly.

“Yes,” Jane answered with a solemn nod. “I mean, no. Not me. I don’t know nothing about the red water, or about the smelly dead fish neither!”

“Truly, you are your father’s daughter.”

Jane popped the last vada in her mouth and grinned around it at the goddess. Gabriel had to smile back as he stroked his hand over her hair, careful not to dislodge the flowers. “Jane, you know how Uncle Shiva travels a lot? And you always ask to go too?”

Jane nodded, turning her dark eyes toward her father as she chewed.

“I think it’s time you get to go on a journey of your own. How old are you now, five? Almost six?” Jane nodded again, holding up her hand with all her fingers outstretched to show Gabriel her age. Gabriel touched his hand lightly against hers, dwarfing her tiny fingers. “That’s definitely old enough to go on an adventure!”

“Can we go to Scotland?” Jane asked, spraying crumbs before she swallowed. “And to Canisbay?”

“Maybe,” Gabriel said, though he had no intention of taking Jane to Scotland for at least several more decades. The angels had come too close last time he was there. He wanted to give them plenty of time to leave. “We can travel all over the world, would you like that?”

“Yes!” Jane clapped her hands and did a little dance on the spot, finishing with a spin. “Aunt Kali, are you coming too?”

“No, Jane, I’m not.” Kali adjusted Jane’s braid and gave the girl the soft little smile she reserved only for her. Gabriel’s grace unclenched a little at the sight. Kali might be upset with _him_ for leaving, but she clearly still had space in her heart for Jane. “I am going to stay here, with my people, so you’re going to have to write to me often. Practice your letters, and tell me everything that you get up to, okay?”

“Okay!” Jane flung out her arms to hug the goddess, the Destroyer, as if she was no more dangerous than a flower. “I’m going to miss you, Aunt Kali.”

“I’ll miss you too, Jane.” Kali closed her eyes as she hugged Jane tightly. “You were my first child, and I’ll never forget that.”

“You’re my first aunt,” Jane replied. “I’ll never forget that neither.”


	27. The Truth Comes Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane is not an extension of Gabriel. There will come a time when Gabriel has to explain himself to his daughter.

### The Truth Comes Out

Dressed all in black, Gabriel strolled through the streets of London, swinging one of his brushes and calling out “Soot-o! Sweep-o!” in the time-honored tradition of chimney sweeps. Two soot-darkened children trailed along after him. One, the younger boy, grinned brightly at everyone and everything. He was Thorn, changed into a human body but lacking a human mind to accompany him. He could follow and stay, but it was best when he didn’t try to speak. The older child, Jane, walked with a slouch, her felt cap tugged low over her face but not hiding her pout. She was dressed in a rough cotton shirt and trousers like Thorn, hiding her femininity behind a layer of soot.

“Good day to you, Madam,” Gabriel said, doffing his top hat to a passing lady and stooping into a low bow. “Need a sweep? Your home will be fresh and light again once I pay you a visit.”

“Hmm…” The lady paused, looking Gabriel and his two charges over. “It _has_ been a while… tell me, how much do you charge for your services?”

“Ordinarily, I ask four pence a flue, Madam, and for that you get the finest work in all of London. No one better than my little lads.” The angel clapped his hands on the shoulders of Jane and Thorn, beaming at the lady. “But for you, Madam, a fine gentlewoman like yourself, I dare say I can drop that down to just tuppence. Tuppence a flue, Madam, and all your chimneys will be as fresh and clear as the day they were built; you can have my word on that!”

“Tuppence?” the lady repeated, failing to hide her pleased expression at the cheap price Gabriel offered. “For tuppence, I may just take you on. Let me speak with my husband.”

“Of course, Madam, of course.” Gabriel bowed and tipped his hat again, and Jane pinched Thorn’s side until he gave a little bow with her, tugging the brim of his hat. “You can find me here most days, excepting the Sabbath. I’ll remember your face and hold my end of this arrangement.”

“Thank you, sir. I do appreciate it.” The lady offered the trio a little smile and a nod before setting off again.

“I hate this,” Jane muttered as the lady walked away, her pout returning in full force. She added crossed arms and a scuff to her step as she followed after Gabriel again. “This is stupid.”

Gabriel sighed, guiding them over to a narrow alleyway, where he set his brushes down and tweaked their bristles in a half-hearted attempt to look like he was adjusting them. “I thought you liked seeing all the nice houses.”

“I don’t like being dirty.” Jane tugged at her shirt and scowled at Gabriel. “Or plain. These clothes are horrid.”

“Do they scratch?” Gabriel raised an eyebrow at his daughter. At thirteen years old, she was starting to seriously develop Opinions. Based on the signs he’d been reading in her body language and expressions, this outburst had been a long time brewing. Gabriel would have to tread carefully to keep from offending her. 

“No.” The answer was sullen, accompanied by squinting eyes and lips pooched out into a distasteful moue.

“Do they keep you warm?”

“Yes.”

“Then what’s wrong with them?”

“They’re _ugly_!” Jane flung out her arm, pointing across the street to a handful of young woman dressed in bright silks and voluminous skirts. “I want to dress like that! Why do we have to be chimney sweeps? You’re a _god_. You change reality with the snap of your fingers. You made Thorn into a human! Snap your fingers and make yourself a king or something, and then I can be a princess and everyone will bow to us.”

“Bowing is overrated,” Gabriel sighed. “Trust me. I’ve been there.”

“Well maybe I’d like to find that out for myself.” Jane folded her arms again, still scowling. “Papa, _why_ do we have to be nobodies all the time? Everywhere we go, you decide we should be some low-level workers, like gardeners, or cooks or _sweeps_. Why can’t we ever be someone important? Even just a merchant would be nicer than this!”

“Jane…” Gabriel sighed, glancing around. Thorn was sniffing down the alley, clearly uninterested in the conversation, just like the rest of the people on the street. “Look around us, Jane. You’re shouting and making a scene.”

“So?” Jane flopped back against the brick wall of the alley, twisting away from Gabriel to very pointedly show him that she _was not happy with him right now_ , and if he so much as tried to put a wing around her, there would be Hell to pay.

Gabriel had gotten very good at reading his daughter’s body language in the eight years they’d been traveling together.

“No one’s noticed,” Jane continued, scanning up and down the street herself. “No one has even looked over at us. No one’s coming over here to see what’s going on.”

“Exactly.” Gabriel cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted. “Hey!” A couple passersby glanced over, but their interest quickly dissipated when they saw there was no spectacle to watch. He looked over his shoulder at Jane. “We’re invisible.”

“I don’t like being invisible,” Jane muttered.

“I do,” Gabriel countered. “Because when you’re invisible, people forget you’re there. When we go into those nice homes, Jane, we’re forgotten as soon as we enter. No one minds their tongue around us. No one covers their dirty work. When we’re nobody, nobody bothers to hide from us. We can learn all their secrets if we just pay attention.”

“And then you kill them for them.”

“I don’t kill them,” Gabriel corrected, holding up a finger sternly. “I _punish_. I _guide_. I _correct_.”

“And they end up dead.”

“Only if they don’t learn,” Gabriel admitted. “Or if they don’t pay attention. Or if they’re just stupid.”

“Humans _are_ stupid.” Jane hunched her shoulders as far as she could, slouching into the curve of her chest.

“That they are,” the angel agreed quietly. “But they _try_. They try so hard to be better. Most of them, at least. And because they try, we have to help.”

“I still don’t understand why.” Jane shot Gabriel a dark look from under the brim of her hat. “You keep saying it’s our job to guide and teach them, but _why_? None of the other gods do that. Aunt Kali doesn’t. Baron Samedi doesn’t. Even Athena doesn’t, and she’s supposed to be a goddess of wisdom sharing her knowledge with humans. But she doesn’t do what you do. Humans _serve_ the gods. They worship them. They don’t _get_ served by them. We are _better_ than humans!”

“Don’t!” Gabriel whirled around as soon as those last words left Jane’s mouth, turning on his daughter with his wings flared wide. His arm landed across her shoulders, driving her back against the wall, and Jane flinched, gasping in shock.

“Papa!”

At the end of the alley, Thorn stopped and looked back at them, shoulders back, head cocked to the side. If he could prick his ears up higher, he would, checking back on them for danger.

The tension left Gabriel as quickly as it had filled him, and he was left looming over his frightened daughter, his fingers itching for a sword he hadn’t drawn in years. Gabriel stepped back, turning away from Jane and pressing his hands over his face. He needed to… he needed to just _breathe_ , to take a moment to compose himself before he could find it in himself to comfort her. He folded his wings in again, tucking them back into his vessel.

“Papa?” Jane’s tremulous touch brushed against his shoulder blades, right where his wings had vanished. “I don’t… I’m sorry?”

“Oh angel,” Gabriel murmured, turning to sweep Jane into his arms. She didn’t fight him, letting him hold her and tentatively hugging him back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. You just scared me, that’s all.”

“How?” Jane asked, snuggling close against Gabriel’s chest like she had when she was small. Her ear was pressed over his heart, and he imagined the sound was as reassuring to her as her own was to him. They were alive. They were together. They were not alone. “How did _I_ scare you?”

“We are not better than humans, Jane.” Gabriel touched his fingers to Jane’s cheek, then smoothed them over her face, tracing the curve of her chin and brushing away the soot. The grime was only superficial. He never _actually_ sent her up the chimneys. That’s what magic was for. “Thinking we are is the first step towards corruption. We are not better. We are simply— _I_ am simply older. You don’t even have that. Seniority does not equal superiority.”

“But we’re _gods_. You’re a god. I’m a demi-god. How is that not…” Jane trailed off as Gabriel shook his head again.

Thirteen years. Thirteen years, he’d kept quiet about his true identity to _Jane_ , to his own daughter. He’d kept quiet about _her_ true identity. At first, he simply hadn’t wanted the little chatterbox to blab something to Kali, but now it had just become habit. Jane deserved better than that.

“We’re not gods, Jane. I’m not a god, and you’re not a demi-god.”

“But you’re Loki.” Jane untangled herself from Gabriel’s arms to take a step back and look at him, though she kept hold of his hands. “No tricks. You’re Loki.”

“No tricks,” Gabriel agreed, squeezing Jane’s small hands. “I’m not Loki. I’m just wearing his body.”

Fear flashed across Jane’s face again, tightening the muscles in her cheeks, dilating her eyes. She licked her lips, taking another step back, the distance tugging at their clasped hands. “You’re possessing my papa?”

“I’ve been possessing Loki for over a thousand years, Jane. I _am_ your papa. But I’m also…” Gabriel hesitated, watching his daughter, before he pulled out his wings again, spreading them wide for her to see. He even released his veil just enough for her to see, solidifying the individual feathers still edged in gold. “I’m also an angel.”

Jane’s eyes were attracted to the feathers, huge and white in her dark face. “Those are wings,” she breathed. “Real actual wings. I just always thought you were a particularly _glowy_ god, and sometimes I’d _pretend_ you were an angel, but you never… those are _wings_!”

Gabriel smiled a little, curling one forward to brush it over Jane’s face. She jumped at the touch, pulling her hands back from Gabriel’s before looking apologetically back at him. “You’re really an _angel_! An angel of Heaven?”

“Not anymore.” Gabriel drew his wing back, folding all of them behind him but keeping them visible. “I didn’t like what was happening in Heaven, so I ran away.”

“You’re hiding.” Jane had always been exceptionally sharp, even as a little girl. She read voraciously, especially the myths and legends of pantheons from all versions of human civilizations. Gabriel tried to keep accounts of angels and their offspring away from her, but like any good child, Jane could sniff out what was forbidden and found ways to access it. She spoke seventeen languages fluently and could read even more—unlike Gabriel, Jane didn’t have an innate knowledge of all the world’s languages, but she did have an ear for grammar and a knack for picking up vocabulary. Every day, it was harder and harder to keep knowledge away from her. “That’s why we keep moving. That’s why you don’t want to stand out.”

“That’s why we keep moving,” Gabriel agreed. “We don’t stand out because we can’t guide the humans if we’re controlling them. That’s not how a good teacher, how a good big brother does things.”

“You’re a big brother. To all of humans?” Gabriel nodded, letting Jane work through things in her own time. “Because you’re an angel. All angels are big brothers to all humans?” Another nod of confirmation. “Then… if _you’re_ an angel,” Jane pointed at Gabriel, “then that would make me…” She pointed slowly to herself, staring off into some middle distance, “half-angel? Is my other father actually human, or did you lie about that too?”

“He was human, yes,” Gabriel had told Jane about Fergus when she was old enough to ask, but in no great detail. He was a human her papa had fallen in love with, and he had been a Scottish tailor, and Thorn had been his puppy, just like he was now Jane’s. Jane knew Gabriel was her mother, but she hadn’t known about the full history Gabriel had shared with her father. As a child, she hadn’t cared very much for the father that wasn’t present, and she had never asked again as she grew older.

“So I’m half-angel, half-human.” Jane’s hand dropped and clenched into a fist at her side. She was taking long, deep breaths through her nose, her eyes hardening against a surge of emotion Gabriel could see playing across her soul. “There’s a name for that.” Moonlight and silver flashed out of her eyes as she turned toward Gabriel. “ _Nephilim_.”

“I see you’ve been reading.” Gabriel tried to bury his unease as the Nephilim watched him. Her eyes hadn’t changed like that since the day of her birth. She had never looked more inhuman in all her life. There was an angelic stillness to her posture as she scrutinized him. At thirteen, the Nephilim was no longer helpless and dependent upon him. Gabriel was confident he could take her in a fight, but he prayed he would never have to be tested.

“Monster.” The silver bled out of Jane’s eyes, returning them to their normal dark grey. “ _Abomination_.”

“And who called you that?” Gabriel demanded, his own fear of the creature shoved aside in favor of concern for his daughter with the shaking voice and a tear starting to cut a path through the soot on her face.

“It’s in all the books,” Jane answered, turning away from him, her arms wrapped around her waist. “All the books you tried to hide from me. The Nephilim were monsters, and they were going to destroy the world, but the Archangel Gabriel slaughtered them all and saved humanity.”

“It was a bit less noble than that,” Gabriel mumbled, dropping his gaze to the cobblestones. “Jane, I wasn’t going to… _those_ Nephilim were different.”

“You knew the other Nephilim?” Jane glanced back at Gabriel over her shoulder. “Did you know the Archangel Gabriel?”

Gabriel bit his lip, lifting his eyes to his daughter. “Jane, I…” For the first time since it happened, Gabriel was overwhelmed by the shame of having lifted the sword that ended the Nephilim threat. “I _am_ Gabriel.”

Jane spun around sharply, still hugging herself. “ _You_? You’re _Gabriel_? You’re _that_ angel?”

“Yes.” There was no refuting the truth. Jane would find out his angelic name sooner or later, and it _was_ inextricably linked with the massacre of the Nephilim. Better she heard it from him than from someone else. From Raphael. He wouldn’t try to comfort Jane if he found her. He would simply lift his sword and end her life, just like Gabriel had to all his own nieces and nephews. All the original Nephilim.

“You killed them?” It was a whisper, followed by a damp sucked in breath as Gabriel nodded his confirmation of that truth as well. “Were they… were they monsters?”

“They were.” Gabriel stepped forward quickly, reaching out for his daughter. “Jane, you have to understand, those Nephilim weren’t like you, they were-”

“Why?” Jane cut Gabriel off as she took a step back, out of his reach, looking up with those dark, sad eyes. “ _Why_?”

There were so many whys Jane could be asking, and she wasn’t giving any clues to which one. “Jane, I don’t…”

“Why did you have me!?” Jane’s upper body lunged toward Gabriel, but she kept her feet firmly planted and her arms tightly wrapped around herself. “If they were all monsters that you had to kill, why did you _make_ me? Why did you make a monster? Why _would_ you?”

“You are not a monster!” Gabriel surged forward, wrapping Jane in his arms and wings before she could pull away. She struggled, but only for a moment before she was collapsing against his chest with a sob, finally releasing her own stomach to clutch at Gabriel instead. “Jane, my angel, my sweet, you are not a monster.” He smoothed his hands over her hair and down her back, petting her in long strokes that always calmed her when she was young. “When the other Nephilim lived,” he began, “my brother, Lucifer, walked the Earth. Surely you know who _he_ is.”

“The devil is your brother?” Jane whispered thickly against Gabriel’s chest.

“All angels are brothers,” Gabriel explained. “From the lowest Cherub to the highest Archangel. We are all brothers, and Lucifer was once an Archangel, the most beautiful and brilliant of us all. But he,” Gabriel closed his eyes, swallowing around a lump in his own throat as he remembered his brother, all he had been and all he had lost, “he thought we—angels—were better than humans. He thought we were above them. And he acted on it. He raised himself up above humanity. He encouraged destruction among them, and he took all of the Nephilim he could find and raised them in Hell. They were twisted in the… in the fires there, and they grew up full of hatred: hatred for angels, for humanity, for anything God loved. Those Nephilim _were_ monsters, Jane, but being a Nephilim does not _make_ you a monster.”

“But there’s never been a good Nephilim!”

Gabriel pulled back to cup Jane’s face in his hands, making her look up at him. “There’s also never been a Nephilim raised with love. Because I _do_ love you, Jane. I’ve known you were Nephilim since the moment I decided to create you, and there is nothing, _nothing_ , that God Himself could do to make me regret that decision. And trust me—I’ve met Him. I know what He is capable of, and it isn’t enough.”

“What if he could bring my father back?” Jane squirmed a hand up between them to wipe at her face, smearing the soot. Gabriel sighed and snapped his fingers, cleaning her face off completely and his own. The soot was only a costume. He didn’t need it distracting him now. “If God said you could have him back, but you’d have to give up me? Would you?”

“Never,” Gabriel answered immediately. “Jane, I loved your father more than I’ve ever loved another. Perhaps even more than God,” he pressed a finger over Jane’s lips, “but don’t tell Him I said that.” God already knew. God had known for millions of years, ever since Gabriel refused to kill Cariel. God had known the depths of Gabriel’s love longer than Gabriel had known. “And even with all of that, if having him back means I lose you…” He shook his head, pulling Jane against him again. “ _Never_ , Jane. Never.”

It was true, too. Gabriel had often wondered himself how far he’d go for Jane. Before she was born, he had second-guessed and doubted himself, but once he got to know the little girl, he had fallen hopelessly, obviously, _completely_ in love with her. In a perfect world, he’d bring Cariel back to his side _and_ keep Jane, but he couldn’t pick him over her. He’d had billions of years with Cariel at his side, and over thirty with Fergus. He’d only had Jane for barely more than ten, and he wanted so many more.

“But I’m still an abomination,” Jane mumbled into his lapels

“You are not an abomination,” Gabriel sighed, kissing Jane’s hat because he couldn’t reach her hair. “Not to me.”

“To someone.” Her fingers clenched against his back. “Papa?” Jane pulled her face out of his coat, staring into his chest. “To _someone_?”

Gabriel closed his eyes but nodded. He couldn’t lie to her. Not about this. “In the eyes of the Heavenly Host,” he began, “all Nephilim are… mistakes.”

“Are they going to try to kill me like you killed all of the other Nephilim?” A flash of silver flitted across her eyes, there and gone too quickly for a human to register.

Jane was too young to be asking such solemn questions and far too young to ask with such a chilling sobriety in her voice, a flat, dead acknowledgment of her own fate. Gabriel dropped to one knee to look her square in the eye, his hands squeezing her shoulders firmly. “You are _innocent_ , Jane. As long as you remain innocent, innocent and good, the Host has no reason to kill you. You just… you keep being a good girl, Jane. Don’t ever turn on humanity. Don’t put on airs, don’t assume they are worse than you because they are weaker. You behave, and you be good, and they won’t… they won’t have any _right_ to kill you.”

Not that that would stop the Host from descending on Jane if they realized she existed. Raphael tended to mete out punishments before listening to verdicts, thinking death was far more merciful than anything life could offer, even to the innocent. It would give Gabriel a leg to stand on if they were ever caught, though, and Michael would value innocence over circumstances of birth.

At least, the Michael Gabriel had known would. He wasn’t sure how much his oldest brother had changed in his absence, how must he had twisted like Raphael.

“And even if they try, I will _always_ protect you.” Gabriel cupped the sides of Jane’s head between his hands, pushing his fingers into her loose curls and staring into her eyes, willing her to believe him. “There isn’t an angel alive I wouldn’t stand in the way of to keep you safe. You are my _child_ , and I love you. Always.”


	28. Beelzebub, Prince of Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the early 1850s, one false god and one Prince of Hell faced off in the prairies of America.

### Beelzebub, Prince of Hell

An empty prairie stretched out before Gabriel. Above, lightning shattered across the sky, followed by ominous rolls of thunder promising rain that wouldn’t come. The long grasses stood perfectly still, not swayed by the brewing storm. No birds sang, no crickets buzzed, and nothing moved. There was only a ripple in the air above the grass, the shimmer of rising heat despite the heavy clouds. The stench of sulfur was thick in the air, and when Gabriel closed his eyes, he could see the blood red drips of the molten mineral streaked across his memories.

Hell was opening up in this abandoned stretch of the American territories.

“Like my handiwork?”

Gabriel turned his head slightly at the nasally voice, turned his head but not his eyes, still staring over the expanse of the prairie. There was now a demon standing just over a hundred yards to his left, his rotting soul competing with the sulfur for ‘worst smell in the air.’

“Took a long time to put it all together, but it’s coming along mighty fine.” The demon strode forward into Gabriel’s line of sight, dry prairie grass crunching beneath his boots. He was well dressed in a suit of black, a wide-brimmed hat keeping the sun off his face. His meatsuit had a drooping mustache and a goatee, only partially covering a ruddy face and saggy jowls. He stopped when Gabriel was staring through him, hooking his thumbs in his belt and looking around with unconcealed pride. “Mighty fine, if I do say so myself.” A bolt of lightning arced from the ground between them, and Gabriel grit his teeth, reminding himself that this was not Raphael’s work. This type of storm grew in the presence of a powerful, careless demon.

“It’ll never work.” Gabriel didn’t even blink to try to clear his eyes of the after-image of the lightning strike. He’d rather see the phantom light than the dripping sulfur.

“Don’t much matter what you think.” The demon held out his hands over the grasses as if warming them by a fire. “Feel that? That’s _Hell_. That’s the eternal fires burning below our feet. Worlds are lining up. Hell, Earth, Heaven, and everything in between.” He lifted one hand, pointing four fingers straight up to the sky above him, the other hand pointing straight down below. “Don’t much matter what you _do_. Just need one creature, right here, right time, and these gates’ll pop right free. Lilith will walk the earth again, and she will make it _pay_ for her imprisonment. Her _humiliation_.”

“It’ll never work,” Gabriel repeated. The wind ruffled his hair, but it didn’t touch the grass below. The demon grinned at him, reaching up to stroke his goatee, the gesture accompanied by another three strikes of lightning, all in a row.

“You think you can stop it? Little god like you?”

“I am Loki,” Gabriel said, tipping his head to the side and letting his eyes glow with Loki’s power. “I am the Lie-Smith, the Sky Walker, the King of the Tricksters. _I_ bound Lilith and destroyed the five gates of Hell.” He took a step toward the demon, sending a wave of Loki’s power crackling across the prairie toward the twisted creature. “I am no ‘little god,’ and you would do well to address me with some respect.”

The demon flicked his hand, slicing cleanly through the wave of power, diverting it to either side without it so much as ruffling his hair, and then he smirked at Gabriel. “And I am Beelzebub, greatest of the Knights of Hell. I was once an angel, Loki. No _god_ can kill me. It would be impossible.”

Gabriel’s expression didn’t flicker as the demon revealed his name. Beelzebub, one of only two surviving Knights of Hell, once a second-class Seraph of Lucifer’s. The Knights of Hell _could_ be killed, but it wasn’t easy. “I try to do three impossible things before breakfast each day.”

“Well then. Perhaps I _should_ fear you.” Beelzebub’s smile was mocking, and there was laughter in his words. “You still can’t stop this, puny god. It’s gone too far for that. Doesn’t have to be me. Any demon stands here at the right time, says the right words… _psheeeew_ ” Beelzebub brought his closed fists together in front of him and exploded them out, and a rumble of thunder helpfully punctuated the mimed explosion. “Gate’s straining on its hinges, Loki. It’s going to pop. Maybe even on its own. Maybe you can stop me, but you can’t stop _it_.”

“I can try.” Gabriel couldn’t risk folding this close to the former angel, so he had to snap his fingers and warp reality Loki’s way, appearing behind Beelzebub. Unfortunately, the snap was enough warning for the demon, who twisted and blocked Gabriel’s attack (of a simple enchanted knife hastily pulled from Loki’s magic, not his identifiable sword). The demon hissed in Gabriel’s face, his breath a poisonous mess of brimstone and rot that Gabriel breathed in automatically, coughing and retching at the smell. Beelzebub’s foot slammed into Gabriel’s wrist, breaking bone, and he plucked the knife easily from Gabriel’s fingers and plunged it into Loki’s heart. The angel gasped in shock, his eyes wide, as he fell to his knees. Beelzebub laughed, taking a step back and surveying his kill.

“Long live the Trickster King.”

Gabriel toppled to the ground, staring blankly ahead, as his body stopped. His fingers twitched once, but then he was as still and silent as the grasses around him. Still laughing, Beelzebub vanished.

The angel waited five minutes before spreading his wings and following suit. He took off across the planet, back to Essen, to the pair of rooms he shared with Jane. As soon as he landed, she was on her feet, rushing to his side. “Papa! You’re hurt!”

“It’s nothing.” Gabriel hissed as he pulled the knife out of his chest, tossing it aside. That had actually hurt for a second! The blade had been a hasty design, but it was meant to be strong enough to kill demons. Couldn’t do any real damage to him (the hole in his chest was already closed over, his skin pink and healthy without even a scar), but still stung like a bitch. “I’m fine, Jane. Really, I’m fine.” He caught her hands as she fussed at the healed injury, lifting them to his lips to press a kiss against her fingers. “Miss anything exciting here?”

“You ruined your shirt,” Jane countered, gesturing to the blood left on the white cotton. “If we get it washed-”

Gabriel interrupted her by snapping his fingers and erasing both the blood and the hole. She sighed and rolled her eyes as he smirked at her.

“Right. God.”

“I can’t believe you still forget that.” Gabriel flung himself onto the bed, sprawling across the thick mattress (not the original provided by their landlady) with an easy grace. “How many centuries have you been alive? Have you _ever_ washed a shirt?”

“I was a laundress for five years in Vienna,” Jane reminded him. “ _Without_ magic.”

“ _With_ magic!” Gabriel protested, pointing a finger at her. “I kept your hands nice and soft!”

“Without magic on the clothes.” Jane sat at the foot of the bed, tucking one leg beneath her, the other dangling over the side. “I take it you found what you were looking for?”

“You take it from a knife in my heart that I was successful?”

“From your own knife, yes.” Jane shrugged. “You got distracted, or you would have had a doppelganger take the blow for you. Sloppy, sloppy, Papa. Sloppiness can kill. Even you.”

“Sloppiness and the right weapon,” Gabriel reminded his daughter. “I haven’t drawn my sword in over a century and a half. No one’s going to kill me without that.”

“Except Michael or Raphael. Or Lucifer. Yours isn’t the only Archangel sword.”

“It’s the only one on Earth and therefore the only one that matters.” Gabriel crossed his arms and closed his eyes, sulking back against the pillows.

“It was everything you feared,” Jane murmured from the foot of the bed.

“You’re not allowed to read me,” Gabriel grumbled.

“You’re broadcasting.” Jane’s hand rested lightly against his ankle, and Gabriel opened his eyes to look at her. “How bad?”

The prairie was roasted with the heat of Hell pressing so close. No animal dared enter the poisonous zone. A Knight of Hell had escaped through the maze of living roots and chains that kept the demons in check. The last surviving Hell Gate was bulging open, and its progress had been so silent that it slipped Gabriel’s notice until now, when it was very nearly too late. Gabriel looked solemnly at his daughter, _his_ angel, the only young woman he would give up his life defending, and summarized it into one word.

“Bad.”


	29. Closing a Gate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When an angel and a Nephilim plot together, crazy genius ideas are born.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I was wrong. It's 1849.

### Closing a Gate

“So this Beelzebub…”

“They call him the Prince of Hell. He’s strong, Jane. One of the strongest demons that ever was.” Gabriel paced the length of the room, his hands tucked behind his back. “Beelzebub and Lilith fight? I’d put my money on Bub.”

“Azazel?”

“Azazel could kick his ass, absolutely. Azazel _is_ the strongest demon ever. He’s the sixth-oldest creature… well, seventh-oldest if you count God. Well, eighth-oldest if you count Death. And the Leviathan… Azazel’s the sixth-oldest angel in creation, and Filiel’s dead. Short of an Archangel actually doing the double fall, he’s the strongest demon that ever will be. But Beelzebub’s not far behind him. Stronger than Alastair, but not as smart.” Gabriel’s wings fluttered in agitation as he turned sharply to pace along a new side of the room. “Lilith’s probably fourth or fifth on the sheer physical strength scale, but she has a power and prestige they don’t. She’s the first. Angels put a lot of stock in the hierarchy of creation order.”

“Really?” Jane asked dead-pan. “I couldn’t tell.”

Gabriel created a pillow with a snap and threw it at her, but his daughter only caught it with a laugh. “I can’t help how I’m created! Besides, the older things _are_ stronger. For something to be the _first_ is… impressive. Lilith gets to command the demons on that alone.”

“Even though she’s half-melted into the gates.”

“Apparently.” Gabriel sighed and turned a second corner.

Jane sat back on the bed, hugging the pillow Gabriel had chucked at her as she watched him pace, trying to understand the situation. “I thought Lilith being melted into the gates trapped all the demons in Hell. How is Beelzebub running around?”

“They can dig their way out, but it’s dangerous. Hell has defenses that work both ways. They’d be risking their lives just trying to escape, regardless of how powerful they were.”

“So the leaders send the grunts, and hunters up here deal with low-level clean up.”

“Exactly.”

“Papa…” Jane bit her lip, glancing toward the window. “I saw a demon hunt once, in Mozambique. It killed two hunters before the third could exorcise it, and they were all experienced veterans. If that was a grunt…”

Gabriel nodded solemnly, sinking onto the mattress at the foot of the bed. “Demons are strong, Jane, stronger than most monsters the humans interact with. There are only about six score on Earth at any given moment these days, after the gates were destroyed, but even those few are nasty. They’re about as immortal as an angel, even the ones that started off human.”

“About as immortal? Like me?”

Gabriel pushed off the bed again, unable to stay still for long. He stalked over to the window, gripping the sill and looking out.

In 1704, Jane had left India with Gabriel, and the two had been travelling the world ever since. On the whole, they had no defined home. Wherever they went, they took common service jobs, slipping unnoticed into the lives of humans and attempting to teach them some lessons in morality and ethics.

It became all the more important to keep moving when Jane’s aging slowed. Gabriel didn’t know what the lifespan of a Nephilim was—as far as he was aware, every Nephilim had been killed long before old age claimed them. They must have lived for centuries in Hell, with the temporal disconnect that spun ten years into a month, but beyond that, Gabriel hadn’t known what to expect. In 1732, Gabriel first realized that Jane’s face was a good decade younger than her peers. Now, in 1849, Jane barely looked any older. Her aging hadn’t _stopped_ \--if Gabriel concentrated, he could make out the minute physical changes to her body and soul—but it took her a century to change as much as a year. If this rate of growth kept up, Jane probably had another good eighty centuries ahead of her. She wasn’t _immortal_ , per se, but she was functionally so.

As a more pressing concern, Jane could be killed. Gabriel knew this for a fact, having slaughtered Jane’s kin with his own sword all those centuries ago, but he wasn’t sure if Nephilim had any of the angelic invulnerabilities to the weapons of mortals. From his experience, Jane was much less likely to get a bruise or scrape in her everyday life, but she had broken her arm in a fall once. A knife could cut her skin, and a bullet could pierce her flesh (as they had discovered in 1785, when they were grooms at a country house and she had turned down the drunken advances of the young master…). There was no sensible armor Gabriel could create for Jane to wear daily, so instead he had focused on teaching her how to fight. He hated the thought of turning his daughter into a warrior like every angel in the Host, but the girl needed to be able to defend herself if Gabriel ever wasn’t near.

As Gabriel had feared, Jane took to fighting like a duck to water. She had the same superior strength, speed, and stamina that the Nephilim of old had possessed—perhaps even more so. The power of an Archangel thrummed through her veins when her eyes turned silver, and she was soon capable of matching Gabriel in a direct spar. A handful of times, she had even managed to get past his guard and stab him in the heart; they always used mortal weapons when they sparred, and Jane was ordered to never hold back. A steel knife couldn’t kill Gabriel. It barely even stung when it was buried deep into his chest. Jane fought with a combination of angelic techniques and human ingenuity, and the results were frighteningly deadly.

Gabriel was glad he no longer feared that Jane would turn on him. They were allies to the end of time, no matter who came after them.

“Not like you,” Gabriel finally answered Jane. “They absolutely do not age at all. They never get sick, and they very rarely even realize that they’re injured. They don’t need to eat, sleep, or breathe, and they cannot be killed without some form of magic. An angel’s grace. A godly spell. A rune-imbued projectile. Those are about the only ways to _kill_ a demon. The best most humans can do is exorcise them, return them to Hell and force them to claw their way out again.”

“I see.” Jane fluffed up the pillow she held before crushing it against her chest again. “Papa, if demons are so hard to kill, why don’t _we_ ever hunt them? You’re an angel and a god both. You can kill demons… can’t you?”

Gabriel closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against the glass. “A very good friend of mine,” he began, then stopped. Fergus. _Cariel_. “He sold… He thought I was gone. I came back too late to save him.”

The bed creaked as Jane climbed off it, padding gently across the room to wrap Gabriel in a hug from behind. He turned to his daughter, folding arms and wings around her tightly. _Your father is a demon,_ he thought, but couldn’t tell her. He had never told her. _I don’t want to know what they’ve done to him._

“I couldn’t fight him if I tried,” Gabriel sighed against Jane’s hair. “I don’t want to risk ever being in that situation.”

“So we avoid demons.”

“The rank and file are difficult for humans to handle,” Gabriel said, “but not impossible. A bit of a challenge will do them some good. But _this_ , Beelzebub… humans have nothing that can kill him. Angels need to step in, but they’re all stuck up in Heaven and won’t come down for anything short of the Apocalypse.”

“So we step in.”

“Exactly.” Gabriel took a deep breath and stepped away from Jane, pacing the room again. “We need to kill Beelzebub and reclose the Gate. It’s more important that we close the Gate. Beelzebub said anyone could open it. It doesn’t have to be him.”

“How do we close the gate?” Jane asked, turning to watch Gabriel pace.

“I don’t know,” Gabriel admitted. “It’s sealed with Lilith herself right now. I thought that would be enough, but it’s already pulled open so far. It’s poisoning the land there.”

“What happens if it opens?”

“If the Hell Gate opens, then demons will pour forth.” Gabriel closed his eyes and pressed his fingers against them. “You weren’t alive when the gates were open before. Earth was a _mess_. Fires, plagues, famine… demons had their claws in most of humanity’s great disasters in the past thousand years. The Black Death was their pride and joy. They’d bring it back. They burn and riot and _destroy_ , Jane. They would destroy Earth.”

“And we can’t close the gate again?” Jane ran her hands through her hair, thinking. “But they’re demons, right? Just demons?”

“ _Just_ demons, she says,” Gabriel muttered. “Yes, just demons. And some hellhounds and night cats and things like that, but all demonic.”

“What if we capped the gate?”

“Capped?” Gabriel frowned at Jane, but her eyes were already glittering silver from excitement, a sure sign that she had a plan forming.

“Yes, capped! They’re _demons_! Weak to salt, to iron, to holiness! To _wards_! We know where the gate is now, right? Never knew that before. We have a location, so all we have to do is make a giant devil’s trap around it. No demons can get in to break the gate open, and no demons can get out just in case some human is stupid enough to do so. We cap it!”

“A giant devil’s trap,” Gabriel repeated. “And how, exactly, do you propose we create a devil’s trap that will stand up to time? It’s no good if it washes away with the first good rain.”

“Iron,” Jane answered, walking over to the window and pointing. “Great big ribbons of iron.” 

Gabriel came up to Jane’s side, looking where she was pointing. Before her finger, a railway stretched away from the city in an unbroken line. The iron path was admired and treated with respect. It was cared for by humans who saw the value in quick transportation, and it would endure for centuries. “Jane,” he murmured, draping his arms around her shoulders, “you are a _genius_.”


	30. Extending an Invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is only one man who can save the world now…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to be historically accurate in this series as much as possible, but I ran into a very big problem with a character introduced her. His true, historical persona does not match the character in the Supernatural universe. I’ve tried to blend the two into a happy medium.

### Extending an Invitation

“Miss Jane Richardson requests your company for dinner tonight.” Gabriel stood just inside the door to Samuel Colt’s workroom, dressed formally in a top hat and understated livery—clean this time, not the soot-covered castoffs he had worn as a chimney sweep. He presented a calling card in one white-gloved hand, the cotton perfectly immaculate and horribly out of place in this cluttered room of metal and grease.

“Miss Jane Richardson can boil her head,” the inventor grumbled from his position bent over a workbench. “No, wait, sorry, don’t tell her that.” He pushed his stool back, scrubbing his hands through his hair. “Kindly inform Miss Richardson that while I am flattered by her interest, I am a very busy man and will not be joining her for dinner tonight or any other night. If she insists, tell her she can boil her head, I ain’t interested.”

“I believe you misunderstand the nature of this request.” Gabriel proffered the card again, his face angelically impassive. “It is _not_ a request. You should get dressed properly, Mr. Colt. Miss Richardson expects you to meet her at Delmonico’s at half past seven.”

“Then start with telling her to boil her head. I don’t need society ladies thinking I’m a fine catch. They just want a profitable businessman on their arm, or in their purse.” Colt picked up a hammer and an iron rod, bending over his bench again.

“You _do_ misunderstand.” Gabriel remained stoic as a rock. “Miss Richardson is not interested in a businessman.” He paused, waiting for Samuel Colt to turn just slightly toward him, the man curious despite himself. “She searches for a hunter.”

Colt set his tools down on his workbench, slowly turning to face Gabriel. The angel bobbed his outstretched hand slightly, encouraging Colt to take the card. “A hunter?”

“She will explain her motives over dinner, Mr. Colt.”

The man approached Gabriel warily, plucking the card from his fingers to inspect it. The card was plain white, engraved with Jane’s assumed name in curling black script, a faint border embossed into the heavy stationary. It was stylized after the most expensive calling cards Gabriel and Jane could find, impressing immense wealth and status with just the quality of paper and perfection of the ink.

Jane had designed it. Gabriel had simply snapped his fingers to create her a stack.

Ordinarily, Gabriel wouldn’t go for this level of theatrics. He and Jane had been travelling the world together for over a century now, more often than not assuming roles in the service area of life. They had been everything from apothecaries to printers to bartenders, with Gabriel quick to curse anyone who had tried to so much as pinch the saucy wench’s backside as Jane served the crowds. They rarely assumed this level of finery in their day-to-day aliases, despite Jane’s love for fine dresses and sparkling jewelry.

“ _Fine_ ,” Colt snapped, tossing the card onto his workbench. “You can tell your Miss Richardson that I will join her for dinner tonight.”

“I shall arrange for a ride to pick you up from your home, Mr. Colt.” Gabriel bowed solemnly to the man. “Good afternoon, Sir.” He turned stiffly and left the workroom, spreading his wings as soon as he was out of sight.

Jane glanced up as Gabriel landed in her hotel room, a sketchpad open over her knees. “Did he accept?”

“He did. Took some convincing. He’s fairly sure that you’re going to throw yourself at him for a marriage proposal.”

Jane gave a short laugh, shaking her head. “Fat chance of that happening! Me, marry a hunter?”

“Suicidal,” Gabriel agreed, reaching for the pad. “For him. What have you concocted for tonight?”

“I was thinking red velvet for the gown,” Jane explained, leaning over Gabriel’s shoulder to point out some detailing in the sketches she had made of herself in a fine dress. “Lace for the trim, of course, with gathered pleats here around the waist. I’d need a new shawl and bag too, and gloves, but those silver slippers I wore this morning should be fine.”

“What color red?” Gabriel asked, flipping back a page to see the rear view Jane had drawn. “Bright? Dark?”

“Deep, blood red.” Jane grinned at Gabriel. “Have to look impressive!”

“Intimidating, I think you mean.” Gabriel waved Jane off the bed. She stepped into the center of the room and posed like a doll, her arms at her sides and slightly raised, head up, shoulders back, posture straight. Gabriel glanced at the drawing one more time, trying to hold an idea of the dress in his head before he snapped his fingers and transformed Jane’s simple muslin dress into the rich evening gown she had designed.

Jane rustled over to the mirror on the wall, which Gabriel snapped into something much larger, and examined the gown with a critical eye. “Can you tuck the front a bit more here? And maybe add an extra ruffle of lace to the sleeves?” 

It took several tries before Gabriel had created something that Jane was satisfied with, but he was happy to put in the extra effort. Jane had endured over a century of rough living at his side. The least he could do for her was go all-out when the situation warranted it.

This situation _did_ warrant it. The two were going ahead with Jane’s idea to construct a devil’s trap around the opening Hell Gate in the territories, but they were running out of time. The worlds would be in alignment in just under six months, and Gabriel wasn’t sure that using magic to lay the railway lines was the best idea. Cold, untainted iron was the best metal against demons. Using magic to move the rails into place could weaken its ability to deflect unholiness. Grace would be safer, but the amount of grace laying out all five lines would require was much more than Gabriel was willing to risk. He wasn’t entirely sure if his brothers would see the imminent threat of the opening gate over the thrill of hunting the rogue Archangel. They would have to build the lines the old-fashioned way, with human sweat and work.

With only six months to get the supplies out to the territories and the tracks laid in the cumbersome, mortal way, Gabriel and Jane had realized that they would need a big name, someone who could get work done fast simply by virtue of who he was, someone who could say ‘spare no expense’ and mean it. Once they realized the type of person they needed, there was only one possible option: Samuel Colt.

Samuel Colt had made a name for himself in the weapons industry on both sides of the Atlantic. A genius engineer and inventor, Colt had designed some of the finest firearms humans could use to murder each other with today. He had no qualms about who bought his weapons—he sold to slave owners and abolitionists alike, effectively arming both sides of the war that was brewing within the United States. At first, Jane had turned her nose up at working with such a morally ambiguous man, but Gabriel pointed out the other side of Samuel Colt, the shadows his adoring fans in New York and London couldn’t see.

Colt was a hunter, and one of the best in his generation. He was currently the only human alive who had ever killed a demon with a gun, and his list of victories was longer than the U.S. Constitution. He supplied both sides, all sides, all the time, Gabriel theorized, because there were monsters on both sides. Colt was too entrenched in the supernatural creepers to care about the human monsters. He had more important things on his mind.

Unfortunately, Colt had settled in New York City, where he was considered a darling of the social scene despite his repeated attempts to stay firmly out of the spotlight. He was well on his way to becoming the richest man in the city, and there were certain expectations of a man like that. Samuel Colt couldn’t go accepting jobs from washerwomen or bartenders. For this, Gabriel and Jane had to go high class.

And so Miss Jane Richardson, a wealthy, untitled woman with an undecipherable accent (Jane had mixed a touch of Indian, French, and German accents together, then added the slightest brush of Cockney for whimsy), and her loyal manservant Lucas were created. Gabriel suspected that Colt would react better to a powerful woman than a powerful man. Jane had agreed, but warned Gabriel that should would not be _seducing_ Colt for this job. If seduction was required, Gabriel would have to shapeshift and do it himself.

“What time am I meeting him?” Jane finally turned away from her mirror and sat in front of her vanity, picking up a hairbrush and beginning to dress her hair. It was long now, nearly waist-length, and had a gentle wave to the dark auburn strands.

“I made reservations for a private room at Delmonico’s at half past seven.” Gabriel climbed off the bed and came up behind Jane, taking the brush from her and running it through her hair himself. He used to do this for her when she was a little girl. He’d sit in a chair by the fire, and she’d kneel between his feet, reading aloud from a book of myths as he brushed and braided her hair before bed. The rhythms of the brush and the hair sliding through his fingers was soothing, a little moment of peace as the world crumbled apart. “You remember what to say?”

“You took me there to see it in person, Papa.” Jane folded her hands in her lap, watching him in the mirror. “I don’t think I can forget.”

“Good.” Gabriel began to gather Jane’s hair up, brushing and twisting it into one of the elaborate buns that was so fashionable these days. Jane passed him pins as needed. When he finished, Gabriel set the brush down and looped his arms loosely around her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. “You look so grown up.”

“I’ve looked so grown up for a hundred and thirty years, Papa.” Jane curled her fingers gently around Gabriel’s arms, tilting her head to the side to rest it against his. “I _am_ grown up.”

“If you were an angel, you’d still be considered a baby.”

“The poor things. I’d hate to be treated like a child for centuries. I pity them.”

“It was normal for us. All we knew.” Gabriel turned his head to kiss Jane’s cheek. “You look lovely. Samuel Colt won’t know what hit him.”


	31. A Modest Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner with Loki and his daughter. Should be uneventful…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we have Samuel Colt! The real Samuel Colt was one of the richest men in America, but no records show he ever went further west than Pennsylvania (though he did travel extensively in Europe). He had a wife and kids, and while he was a genius inventor and marketer, he was not the grizzled loner we know from Supernatural. This is my attempt to marry the two Colts into one!

### A Modest Proposal

“Miss Jane Richardson expects you to meet her at Delmonico’s at half past seven.” Gabriel had resumed his position just inside the doorway to Colt’s workshop, watching the man work by the light of several lamps. “It is just past seven now, Sir, and you are not dressed for dinner.”

“Well then, I guess I ain’t joining your Miss Richardson.” Colt didn’t even look up from his work as he flapped a hand at Gabriel. “Go give her my apologies and tell her not to invite me again. And if she refuses, use that boil her head line.”

“Mr. Colt, I am Miss Richardson’s manservant. It is my job to see that what she expects, occurs. If you stop your work now, I can see that you are presentable enough to join Miss Richardson for dinner.”

“That ain’t happening,” Colt grumbled.

“That wasn’t a request.” Gabriel took one deliberate step forward, a heavy bag in his left hand. “You _will_ join Miss Richardson for dinner at Delmonico’s.”

Colt lifted his head, his eyes narrowed. “Are you threatening me, boy?”

“No sir,” Gabriel answered. “I am merely stating a fact.” He held Colt’s eyes as he crossed the room, and before the hunter could blink, he had one immaculately-gloved hand covering Colt’s over the little model he was working on. “Put this down. Wash your face and hands. Are you a gentleman, or are you a louche? You have made a promise to a lady. Are you so crass as to go back on your word?”

“Watch your tongue, boy,” Colt warned.

“Wash your hands, _Sir_ ,” Gabriel countered, not backing down from Colt’s glare, as admittedly impressive as it was. For a human. Jane could out-glower Colt with one eye shut, and Gabriel had built up decades of resistance to her looks.

“Washing my hands won’t do any good.” Colt backed down first, pulling his hands away from Gabriel’s touch and pushing his stool away from his workbench. “I ain’t got any clean clothes here, and the house is too far-” He trailed off as Gabriel set his bag down and snapped it open, revealing first a towel to lay over the dirty bench, and then an entire evening suit acceptable for dining at Delmonico’s that would just happen to fit Colt perfectly.

Gabriel met Colt’s eye with a smug gleam in his own, but his mouth remained impassive. “I have come prepared, Sir.”

“So you have…” Colt looked over the clothing with no small amount of trepidation.

The cab ride to Delmonico’s passed in relative silence. Colt tried asking a few questions about Jane—how old was she, what was her business with him, how did she learn about hunters—but Gabriel politely but firmly shot each one down with a gentle “You’ll find out when you speak with her.” Upon giving her name at the restaurant, Gabriel and Colt were ushered upstairs to a private dining room where Jane was waiting.

Jane was perusing the menu when Gabriel and Colt were shown in. She waited until the door was being closed behind them by a helpful servant of the restaurant before looking up, and a sharp smile cut across her face. “Ah, Mr. Colt. So good of you to join me this evening.”

 _My girl is brilliant,_ Gabriel thought with pride as Jane gracefully rose to her feet, holding out her hand for Colt to kiss. She was controlling the situation elegantly, showing Colt that she was no blushing maiden hoping for his affection.

“Please, join me. Mr. Lucas, you may be seated as well. This is a business meeting, after all.” Jane gestured toward the table. Gabriel gave her a small bow before taking the back of her chair and helping her back into her seat. He removed his gloves and tucked them into his coat pocket before sitting to Jane’s left. Colt did the same at her right.

“Your man is very persistent, Miss Richardson,” Colt offered. “He would not let you be disappointed.”

“I know,” Jane answered with that sharp smile again, reaching over to cover one of Gabriel’s hands with her own. “That is one of the reasons why I employ him. Mr. Lucas is a man of many talents, not in the least of which is the ability to coax stubborn men to my side.”

“Do you do this often, then?” Colt asked. “Dine with strange hunters?”

“Dine with potential business partners, yes,” Jane answered. “When I have need for them. Shall we place our orders now? We can discuss our future contracts once our food is being prepared. I did hear that the steak at this restaurant was absolutely divine.”

That was code for _Don’t talk business with the wait staff in the room,_ and Colt thankfully picked up on the message clearly. Jane kept up a simple light chatter as their orders were taken and their wine poured, but once the trio were alone in the private room, Colt set his wine glass down hard on the table.

“What’s this all about, then?” he demanded. “Your man wouldn’t answer any of my questions. I do not take kindly to being pushed around, Miss Richardson.”

“No, I imagine you would not, Mr. Colt.” Jane set her glass down more gently and folded her hands on the edge of the table. “Straight to business, then. Tell me, what do you know about demons?”

Colt scowled, pushing his chair back and shaking his head. “If you’re trying to hire me to hunt one, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“No, Mr. Colt. I would like to hire you to stop them. All of them.”

“Stop them?”

“All of them,” Jane repeated. “Have you heard what is going on in the far west, the area called Wyoming?”

“Can’t say I have.” Colt looked warily between Jane and Gabriel.

Jane gave a little gesture Gabriel’s way without looking away from Colt. “The file, if you will, Mr. Lucas. I must warn you, though, Mr. Colt, the images contained therein are very graphic, and may not be best seen before a meal.”

“I’m sure I’ve seen worse.”

Gabriel reached into his bag and drew out a thick file, which he passed across the table to Colt. Colt frowned as he accepted the file, opening it up to reveal a stack of photographs. They were perfectly crisp and clear, as all of their subjects were deceased and therefore hadn’t moved a fraction as Gabriel created the pictures. No camera had actually been used, but every image was horrifyingly real. Cattle mutilations, _human_ mutilations, every sign of demonic activity Gabriel could find had been photographed in excruciating detail.

Colt reached for his wine glass by the third picture, and had it drained by the fifth. His skin had gone ashen, and his hands were trembling faintly when he gave up around the tenth, closing the folder and returning it to the table. “That is…”

“I do not show these pictures to shock you, Mr. Colt, but to impress upon you the severity of our situation.” Jane took the folder from Colt and opened it herself, flipping through the images impassively. As horrific as they were, both she and Gabriel had seen the very real situations these were images of. She had retched and cried too many times in the empty prairies and slaughtered towns to do so now over this fine table. Even so, Gabriel shifted his foot beneath the table to brush against hers, offering his support. Just because she wasn’t visibly affected by the photos anymore didn’t mean she wasn’t still affected. “There are demons in Wyoming, demons with a mission.”

“And you want _me_ to handle them?” Colt shook his head. “Absolutely not. I’ve done more than enough demon hunting for one man in one lifetime.”

“It is a good thing I wouldn’t be hiring you to hunt them, then,” Jane answered, selecting one of the last photographs and drawing it out of the file. She snapped the folder closed and set it on the table to her right before offering Colt the image she had chosen. “What do you see, Mr. Colt?”

Colt glanced at the picture warily at first, but then longer when he recognized it was devoid of blood. “Nothing,” he answered. “It’s just an empty field.”

“Look again,” Jane advised. “Look _closely_.”

Frowning, Colt bent closer to the photograph, scrutinizing it under the light from the oil lamp. He studied it for a full five minutes before giving up, throwing it back on the table in disgust. “There’s nothing there. Look, it’s a perfectly lovely photograph of the prairie, startlingly clear—you can see every blade of grass—but there’s nothing…” He trailed off, his eyes widening.

“Precisely.” Jane took a sip of her wine.

“Every blade of grass.” Colt picked up the photo again, his sharp eyes focused on what he _wasn’t_ seeing. “No blur anywhere… there wasn’t a breath of wind while this photograph was taken. Not a single breeze, on the prairie, for…”

“Ten minutes exposure time.” Jane took another sip before returning her glass to the table. “The effect is much more eerie in person, Mr. Colt, when you can see exactly how _expansive_ the affected area actually is. Tell him, Mr. Lucas.”

“Over nine hundred square miles.” Gabriel pushed his chair back, rising to get the wine bottle and refill Jane’s glass, then Colt’s, then his own. “The land is perfectly silent. There are no animals. No wind. Just heat and sulfur.”

“What is it?” Colt looked up at Gabriel, then over at Jane. “Sulfur, that’s demons, but that much…?”

“It is Hell, Mr. Colt.” Jane folded her hands in her lap. “A gateway to Hell, opening in the heart of this fine country.”

With perfect timing, their food arrived. Jane smiled and thanked the waiters, gushing over how delicious everything looked and smelled, while Colt sat silently in his chair, trying to take in everything he’d just been told. Gabriel returned to his seat, accepting his own dishes and quietly thanking the waiters, letting Jane continue to dominate.

Colt came back to himself after the waiters left. He sat forward, picking up his fork and knife, but he was looking intently at Jane. “All right. Hell’s opening up into the country, but you don’t want me to hunt demons for you. What _do_ you want from me?”

“Your money, Mr. Colt.” Jane turned her sharp smile on the hunter, her own knife gleaming in her hand. Gabriel knew Jane could kill Colt in ten different ways without getting out of her seat. He also knew she wouldn’t use any of them. Colt was a human, and as far as Heaven was concerned, innocent. Jane had been staying far on the side of goodness for too long to throw it away now. “Or, more accurately, your reputation for _having_ money and your name. Your ingenuity would come in handy too. Really, Mr. Colt, you are everything we are looking for in one perfectly packaged man. It is like God knew you would be needed.”

Gabriel couldn’t completely bite back the small cough into his napkin at that. Colt really was the perfect man at the perfect time. Gabriel wouldn’t put it past his own dad to be paying just enough attention to lend a hand.

“I don’t understand.”

“The gate to Hell is already open, Mr. Colt. Open all but for a thin fiber straining under the force of the fury of Hell. It _will_ open. ‘If’ isn’t the question anymore. ‘When’ is. At the moment, ‘when’ is six months from now.” Jane sighed, cutting into her steak delicately. “We are looking to control the damage before it happens. A massive devil’s trap surrounding the portal should be sufficient to keep the malicious creatures of Hell contained. If we work fast, if we pay enough money, we should be able to have something crafted and complete within that time frame.”

“So you expect me to bankroll a massive operation?” Colt narrowed his eyes at Jane, shaking his head again already. “I don’t know what sort of trap you had in mind, but I won’t have you spending a cent of my money.”

“ _My_ money, Mr. Colt, funneled through you. Only your _reputation_ for money.” Jane took a bite of her steak, chewing it thoroughly and swallowing before continuing. “I am richer than many small countries, but the very nature of my business means that I have been keeping my name hidden from polite society. I am without title, without prestige, and without reputation. There is no one who would take my word on trust that I am good for thousands, tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands of dollars. It would take time to prove my assets, time and hassle we cannot afford.” Jane tapped the folder of gruesome images with one finger. “These attacks are only going to increase in magnitude over the next six months, and this is with the Hell Gate still shut. The moment it springs open…”

“Apocalypse,” Gabriel offered, halfway through his own steak. Mr. Lucas was meant to be a quiet man, his contributions few in words but emphatic in meaning.

“Precisely,” Jane agreed, with a glance Gabriel’s way. “Mr. Colt, if you can help us design such a trap and employ the men and resources necessary to have it completed before the gate springs open, you will find yourself richly compensated.”

“So you just need _me_ to trust your word, and to splash my own name around? What if you can’t compensate me? A trap this big… you’re talking what, iron? Enough iron to make that could _easily_ run eighty, ninety, maybe up to a couple hundred thousand. You think I consider that pocket change?”

“No, Mr. Colt, but I certainly do.” Jane took another bite of her steak, her teeth snapping shut around the silver fork. After she swallowed, she smiled at the hunter. “To prove my funds to _you_ , I have arranged for a deposit into your accounts tonight. Two thousand dollars, for being willing to consult with us about this problem.” She set down her silverware and held up her hands for a moment. “No strings attached. If you say no right now and walk out that door,” she gestured before picking up her wine and taking a sip, following it with a graceful little shrug. “The two thousand is still yours. But if you say yes…” She gave him a very pointed look.

“You’re trying to bribe me,” Colt accused.

“I am trying to appeal to all of your sensibilities,” Jane retorted. “If you help us, Mr. Colt, you get money. You enjoy your wealth. Your business certainly attests to that. Your marketing strategies alone are works of genius, never mind your actual _products_. I am very impressed with how far you would go to earn a dollar. But I am also appealing to your soul. If you help us, you are stopping _Hell itself_ from opening onto this world. Millions of lives will be saved, because of you. Because of your actions. Our names,” she gestured to Gabriel and herself, “will be forgotten, erased from history. That is the nature of our work. But _your_ name, your name will be murmured by hunters for generations to come. Samuel Colt. The man who held back Hell. And finally, Mr. Colt, I am appealing to your intellect. Have you ever worked on an engineering project of this scale? We are talking about creating a giant devil’s trap around half a million acres of wild prairie. Can you _imagine_ the difficulties we will encounter? The sheer amount of planning and development just to get the supplies out there, not to mention the level of attention to keep the workers on schedule? The engineering alone will be a nightmare!” Jane reached over the table to place both of her hands on one of Colt’s. “Wealth, fame, and a challenge, all in one. Tell me you can say no to such an offer, Mr. Colt. Give us a name of someone better suited for this job, and we will walk away right now and leave you in peace.”

Colt speared a chunk of his own steak and stuck it in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. Eventually, he swallowed and pointed his fork at Jane. “If I’m just building this trap, who’s actually chasing the demons already out there? If they’re running around killing people, we won’t get workers staying for long no matter how much we’re paying. _You_ gonna hunt ‘em?”

“Do I look like a hunter, Mr. Colt?” Jane asked, raising an eyebrow. “I wrangle the hunters. Herd them, if you will. Mr. Lucas will be largely responsible for the safety of our workers, and I will have other hunters chasing the demons themselves.”

Colt nodded slowly, cutting off another chunk of his steak. “We’re going to save the world?” he asked.

“Yes, Mr. Colt.”

“And it’ll be tricky?”

“The trickiest thing you have ever done.”

“Well then.” Colt picked up his wine glass and drained the contents. “When do we start?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> $2,000 in 1849 is approximately equal to $60,000 today.


	32. Of Smiles and Kurds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Work begins on the railways, but Gabriel is less than pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The consecration ritual used in this chapter has been taken from _The Book of Common Prayer_.

### Of Smiles and Kurds

It had been Colt’s idea to add churches to the five points of the iron pentagram being built across the prairie. _Gives the railways an excuse to run,_ he explained, when laying out his idea to Gabriel and Jane. _Plus, they’re holy. Against demons-_

_Every extra bit of strength can only help us._

That had been the first time Jane had smiled at Colt, a real smile, not the knife-sharp smirk of Miss Richardson, but the innocent joy of Gabriel’s daughter. It wasn’t the last. Not that Gabriel was counting or anything like that, but Jane had been spending a lot of time in the company of Samuel Colt ever since this project began, and she genuinely smiled at the man at least once every time they were together.

No, Gabriel wasn’t counting.

The angel hopped easily from roof to tower, climbing the first finished church to reach the highest point of the steeple. Lightning flickered across the night sky, but that was a near-constant companion these days. The workers Colt had found were uneasy about the never-ending storm, but so long as Colt continued to insist lightning storms were perfectly normal for this part of the country, most of the men didn’t know enough to raise a fuss.

The men were largely immigrants from the east, brought out to Missouri by train and then ferried across the prairie in great chains of wagons. Gabriel had been hesitant about the extra time needed to bring the workers to the location, but as Colt pointed out, the ignorance of the men who had never seen the prairie was far more valuable than the close proximity of the laborers from the few little towns in the area. Colt had hired several recruiters in the big port cities of Boston, New York, Philadelphia, and Charleston, offering guaranteed jobs to men fresh off the ships. The pay was fair for a day’s work, with promise of a generous bonus if the railways were laid ahead of schedule. Once the men started arriving in the west, their flow remained steady.

Gabriel wrapped his hands around the cross inserted at the top of the church tower and spread his wings wide, revealing the full glory of an Archangel to…

Well, to Jane, who was standing on the ground in front of the church, keeping watch. They were doing this well past midnight in the hopes of keeping any onlookers from wondering why the Hell Mr. Lucas was clambering all over the roof. None of the humans would have been able to see his wings, but they might see the shadowy aftereffects highlighted against the clouds when the lightning danced. 

“Let the doors be opened!” Gabriel called down to Jane. She nodded, stepping forward to throw the doors of the church open wide. Gabriel bowed his head and closed his eyes, drawing from his grace and feeding it into the building through the cross as stealthily as he could, so as not to attract his brothers’ attention. “Peace be to this house, and to all who enter here,” he murmured, reciting a time-honored consecration rite. “In the name of my Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

Lightning flashed above Gabriel, and he smiled at its timeliness as he continued speaking the prayers of consecration, imbuing the building with his own power. A church alone was holy enough to bolster the trap, but a blessed temple of an Archangel couldn’t be desecrated even by the strongest of demons. Beelzebub wouldn’t be able to set foot in this place once Gabriel finished the ritual. “Now, O Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, sanctify this place; for everything in Heaven and on Earth is yours. Yours, O Lord, is the kingdom, and you are exalted as head over all. Amen.”

Gabriel sliced cleanly through the thread of his grace and tied it to the cross, anchoring the power he had filled the building with for as long as it stood. “All clear, Jane!” he called before pulling a wing forward and combing his fingers through the feathers to find the perfect one to use as a relic inside the church to further strengthen its holiness.

“Miss Richardson? What are you doing here?”

The angel tensed briefly, leaping off the tower and scuttling to the edge of the church to look down. Colt was approaching Jane, his hat held in one hand, a lantern in the other. “It’s late. Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“I was admiring the craftsmanship of our fine builders, Mr. Colt.” Jane turned smoothly on her heel to approach the door of the church and pull it shut. “This church is a work of art, far more beautiful than I expected given our time restraints. I look forward to seeing what the other four are like.”

“We’ve been very lucky with the men we’ve acquired,” Colt agreed. “They don’t ask too many questions; they simply do their work to the best of their abilities.”

“As do we all, Mr. Colt.” As Jane turned back to Colt, Gabriel felt the first rub of rot against his senses. _Demon!_ Before he could shout a warning, it was upon them, racing out from the darkness with black eyes and a scream.

“Look out!” Jane was the one to shout, leaping toward Colt and grabbing his gun from his belt. She fired just once into the darkness, the bullet flying cleaning between the demon’s eyes. It didn’t kill the creature, but it stunned it just long enough for Gabriel to launch himself from the rooftop, his enchanted knife in his hand. The demon fell back with the weight of the angel on top of him, and Gabriel drove the knife deep into the creature’s throat. It died with a gurgle, the demon itself briefly flashing orange within its meatsuit.

“Miss Richardson!” Colt cried. “ _Mr. Lucas!_ ”

“Demon,” Gabriel spat, wiping his hand over his mouth and pushing himself to his feet. “Didn’t take the time to adjust the perimeter on this place yet to compensate for the completion of the church.” Consecrating the building had disrupted the wards Gabriel had etched around the land to try to keep the workers as safe as possible from the demonic threat growing around the Gate. Beelzebub wasn’t the only demon in the area anymore. All of Wyoming was becoming a hotspot for demonic activity as they gathered around and tried to get to the gate. “My apologies, Miss Richardson. This seems to be the only one around.”

Jane waved her hand dismissively at Gabriel. “It’s quite all right, Mr. Lucas. I know you’re doing your best. We haven’t lost a man yet to the demons, and we didn’t start tonight. All is well. Mr. Colt, _my_ apologies for taking this from you.” Jane turned the gun around in her hands and offered it to the hunter handle first. “I didn’t have time to think.”

Colt slowly accepted the gun from Jane, looking back to the demon. “That was a crack shot,” he said. “This distance, at night… I thought you weren’t a hunter.”

Jane shrugged, clasping her hands together. “Perhaps it’s more accurate to say hunting is not my primary focus these days, but I am far from defenseless.”

“And _you_!” Colt turned on Gabriel, scowling. “How did you…?”

“Was inspecting the roof,” Gabriel grunted, pushing himself to his feet and wiping his knife off across his vest. “Heard the commotion.” Mr. Lucas was a man of few words. Gabriel had to remember to let Jane handle the situation.

“But you _killed_ it.” Colt strode across the path to Gabriel’s side, yanking the knife from his hands. “With this? What _is_ this?”

“Mr. Colt!” Jane crossed the path after Colt, her boots crunching in the gravel. “If you recall, I have employed Mr. Lucas to protect us from demons! It is only natural that he have weapons in his arsenal capable of actually killing them. Kindly return his knife to him.”

“I’ve never seen a knife that could kill a demon before,” Colt muttered, though he did pass the knife back to Gabriel. “Didn’t even know it was possible for such a thing to exist.”

“Well, that one just happens to be an ancient demon-killing knife of the Kurds,” Jane shot back. “Very rare. Very useful.”

 _Kurds?_ Gabriel sniggered inwardly but only allowed his face to radiate angelic impassiveness. Jane was doing just fine here.

Colt was mouthing the description back to himself as Jane looped her arm through Gabriel’s and offered Colt a tight smile of annoyance rather than happiness. Gabriel tried not to smile himself. “If we’re done here, Mr. Colt, Mr. Lucas will see me back to my tent, and then he will repair the perimeter to ensure our men are kept safe.”

“Huh? Yes, yes, of course…”

“Good night, Mr. Colt.”

“Good night, Miss Richardson.”

Gabriel allowed Jane to lead him away, waiting until they were out of earshot to ask, “Kurds?”

“Oh, shut up,” Jane swatted his arm. “It’s not like I could say ‘he pulled it out of his grace!’”

“The Kurds were a very nice people,” Gabriel mused, patting Jane’s arm over his. “Not _exactly_ known for their demon-hunting abilities, but I think we can work with it.”

“I know I’ve heard of them before, so I assumed they had some religious significance…”

“Some say they’re the descendants of djinn,” Gabriel explained. “Others say they’re related to angels. I can work some demon-slaying into their history when this whole mess is done, whip up a nice little backstory for this knife of mine.”

“You could have just used your sword,” Jane pointed out. “There was only one demon, and you killed him. No witnesses.”

Gabriel shook his head. “Colt witnessed it. I don’t want to risk him, or anyone else here, seeing my blade. All it takes is the wrong man getting possessed, and the truth could come out.”

“So you’re sticking with your ancient demon-killing knife of the Kurds?”

“As long as I can remember what you called it!”

Jane rolled her eyes, barely visible in the dark, but then she reached up to squeeze Gabriel’s arm with her free hand. “More seriously though, Papa, are you okay? That demon was practically upon us, and Beelzebub managed to best you in a fight, and there was that time with the three demons when we were gathering photographs…”

Gabriel covered her hand with his, looking solemnly at her. “I am well, Jane, physically uninjured.”

“But?” she prompted.

“But I’ve noticed my reaction times have been slower here.” Gabriel looked beyond Jane, toward the heart of this whole mess, where the Gate was opening. “I think it’s affecting me. This concentration of Hell… it’s like leaden weights tied to my wings. I never noticed it before, when I was actually _in_ Hell, but I also never stayed in Hell as long as I’ve stayed here.”

“We have to pick up the pace, then,” Jane decided. “If you’re this sluggish after only the first church, I can’t imagine how much worse you’ll be by the end of all five. Beelzebub himself is bound to come back and try to stop us, correct?” Gabriel nodded slowly. “Then we need to have you in the best fighting condition possible. You’re the only one of us who can stand up to him.”


	33. Jane and the Colt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is more to life than demons and Hell, even out in the wilderness of Wyoming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Rite of AshkEnte is lifted directly from the pages of my favorite fantasy writer of all time, a nod to the greatness that is Terry Pratchett.

### Jane and the Colt

Jane sat on a blanket laid out over the dry prairie grass, her cotton skirts spread out around her as she sketched the scene. She dressed much more simply out here than she had back in the eastern cities. Velvet and satin would only be ruined with all her running around on the prairie, even with an Archangel for a papa. Thorn was curled up beside her, his nose tucked into his tail as he snored in his sleep. He still looked no older than the four years he was when Fergus brought him back from the dead, but he loved his sleep just like any old man.

Gabriel was in the fields not far away, invisible to the human eye as he examined the opening gate, trying to gauge how close it was to opening on its own, with or without the proper alignment and incantations. Beelzebub hadn’t been lying—Hell was trying to push its way out. Gabriel just hoped this trap they were making was enough to withstand the inevitable onslaught of Lucifer’s realm.

“Miss Richardson! I was hardly expecting to find you this far out into the forsaken area.”

Gabriel glanced up as Colt approached his daughter, narrowing his eyes at the man. He flitted over to their sides, still invisible, though Jane’s eyes slid his way for a moment, indicating he couldn’t hide from her. Too bad for her. No way was he going to let her remain unchaperoned in Colt’s presence!

“I actually enjoy the tranquility of this place, oddly enough,” Jane admitted, setting her sketchbook down and lifting a hand to shield her eyes from the sun as she looked up at Colt. “For all the evil here, it is calm, and the sky is actually clear.”

That was true enough; Gabriel had spent the first week after hiring Colt to set up several bands of anti-demon warding around the entire job site. He was determined to keep the demons out as much as possible. The perimeters still held against the onslaught, except when he forgot to adjust for the new churches, but he had to spend every other day refreshing wards and splashing his own blood over the dry earth. The lightning storms that heralded the presence of so many demons were kept confined to the outskirts now, while the interior was startlingly clear.

“It’s positively eerie,” Colt declared, staring over the still field. “I can’t see how you could possible enjoy it here.”

“After the noise and stench of the worksites?” Jane raised an eyebrow at the man. “You cannot tell me that you honestly prefer _that_!”

“I suppose I don’t,” Colt admitted. After a moment, he gestured to the blanket beside her. “Mind if I join you, Miss Richardson?”

“Of course not.” Jane gathered her skirts in closer, shifting more to the side of the blanket. “Please, have a seat, Mr. Colt. What _does_ bring you out here?”

“The Hell Gate, actually.” Colt sat beside Jane and put his satchel in front of him. From within, he pulled out a thick notebook and opened it, flipping through the pages. “I’ve been surveying this land, taking notes and measurements, and I’ve discovered an odd pattern forming…”

“These threads here?” Jane asked, pointing to a hasty sketch Colt had done. She shifted closer to the man, practically leaning against his arm as he held the notebook so they both could study the pages. Gabriel growled under his breath, but the sound went unnoticed as Thorn shifted in his sleep at the same time, snuffling into the blanket. “Oh, I see! This swirl of electric discharge is certainly unnatural. How long have you been noticing these readings?”

“They were there since the first day I came out here, two months ago.” Colt flipped back through the pages. “They don’t seem to be growing any stronger, but they are certainly too consistent to be aberrations.”

“This is the Gate itself,” Jane murmured, running her fingers down the columns of neat numbers Colt had inscribed in the book. “This is its signature, its grip on the world. This is what we cannot see with our eyes alone.”

“My thoughts precisely.” Colt looked up from the notebook to meet Jane’s gaze, mere inches away. Gabriel glared at the pair from just off the blanket, fisting huge clumps of grass in his hands. “This is the door opening onto our world. Doors can be shut, Miss Richardson.”

Jane shook her head slowly, but she didn’t draw away from Colt. “Not this one. It is being pushed open from within. There is nothing on this side we can use to hold it closed.”

“Not _now_ ,” Colt agreed. “But there could be.”

“Could?” Jane’s brow furrowed as she frowned, and then she looked out over the prairie, ignoring Gabriel’s presence in the way. “If we created something, a-a lock or a gate of our own, we could maybe… yes! Yes, we could maybe seal the gate ourselves, instead of just containing it! But to do so, we would need more iron. Iron and…”

“And _silver_ ,” Colt continued, picking up on Jane’s thoughts and adding his own ideas. He flipped forward to a blank page, already beginning to jot down notes and equations. “Something blessed, something… powerful? Something…”

“Something sacred!” Jane grabbed her sketchbook and pencils, starting to sketch an addition to the prairie scene. “If we could put, put a concentration of… of an anchor, of something _human_ , make a sort of mesh, a-”

“A _net_ ,” Colt finished. “If we could make a web, stretch it across this opening, lock it down tight…”

“We could stop Hell from breaking loose.” Jane chewed at her lip as her pencil flew over the sketch, inserting a mausoleum-like structure into the center of the prairie. “Like a brick in front of a loose door-”

“Crude and simple, but highly effective.” Colt slashed a line across the page and started a fresh wave of equations below. “But we can’t just put it on top so it could be pushed away. We’d have to lock it in place, and when something is locked, it can be unlocked.”

“Then we will make the key something that can keep the demons at bay,” Jane said, flipping a page to begin a more detailed drawing. “Like a demon-killing knife.”

“Or a gun.” Colt pushed his notepad aside and reached into his satchel again, drawing out an old revolver. “Knives require close quarters. With a gun, you can drop the demon before it gets on top of you.”

“Is that…?” Jane set her pencil aside, reaching out for the gun with both hands. “May I?”

Colt nodded, carefully passing the gun to Jane. She stroked her hands over it reverently, like a mother welcoming a baby, then picked it up and pointed it off to the side, careful not to aim at the invisible Gabriel. “This is _beautiful_!” she breathed, turning it in her hands again, running her fingers over the engraving and inscriptions. “ _Non timebo mala_. I will fear no evil.”

“There are monsters in this world,” Colt explained, a fond approval in his eyes as he watched Jane marvel over his weapon. “Demons are just one of many. There are vampires and ghosts, werewolves and zombies, Hell, there are even _gods_ , Miss Richardson. And that’s not even everything.” He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “I designed that weapon to take ‘em all out. All of ‘em. Too much hassle remembering silver bullets this, holy water that… one gun, one bullet, boom, dead. Done.”

“And it works?” Jane traced the pentagram etched into the wooden handle with one finger.

“Not exactly,” Colt sighed. “It works most of the time, but not all the time, and I have to put some carvings on the bullets too, which makes it less than useful. I wanted the gun to have all the power needed to imbue the bullets itself, but it’s just not working out that way.”

“What did you use to give the gun its magical properties?” Jane asked, already beginning to disassemble the revolver and examine its inner workings. “I see you have runes etched in here…”

“Death runes, mostly,” Colt said. “From every religion and every culture I could find. Anything promising death.”

“Ouch.” Jane spun the cylinder thoughtfully. “Have you tried the Rite of AshkEnte?”

“AshkEnte?” Colt rubbed his chin, his brow furrowed deeply. “I’ve heard of that, but it’s not… isn’t it just a ritual?”

“Summoning ritual, yes.” Jane began piecing the revolver back together as if she’d been doing it all her life, but Gabriel knew for a fact that this was only one of a handful of guns she had ever held, including the one she had used just the previous night to stun the demon for him. Weapons just liked Jane.

“How would that help kill things?” Colt asked, genuinely curious.

“Because of _whom_ it summons.” Jane clicked the cylinder back into place and handed the gun back to Colt. “A bullet that can summon Death himself? I think that would kill just about everything.”

“The Rite of AshkEnte summons _Death_?”

“My father told me about it, when I was younger,” Jane explained. “But he also made me promise to never use it myself. Death gives him the heebie-jeebies, apparently.”

 _Because he’s **Death**!_ Gabriel thought, shaking his head at the flippancy of his daughter as she and Colt bent their heads together over the gun.

The plan to lock the Hell Gate could possibly work, from what Gabriel could make out while reading Samuel’s notes upside-down from the other side of the blanket. Jane’s sketched concept had already roughly worked in several aspects of protective and constraining architecture. Given enough time, it was entirely possible for such a lock to actually work. Gabriel certainly would be breathing easier if they managed to pull it off. It would add an extra layer of defense to this weakest point of contact between Earth and Hell.

Imbuing a handgun with the power of AshkEnte, on the other hand, was much less reassuring. Bullets that were summoning Death himself?

That guy could kill Gabriel!

“Miss Richardson, I must offer my apologies.” Colt cleared his throat, his face slightly flushed as he glanced away from Jane. “I have been… horribly underestimating you all these weeks. I thought you a spoiled socialite playing at heroes, but… you actually know of what you speak. And your skill with a gun is… I’ve never seen a woman—seen _anyone_ —shoot like that before! You have been steadily impressing me, and I… I am impressed.”

Jane smiled one of her soft, happy smiles at Colt, and Gabriel narrowed his eyes. Forget Death. He had some killing of his own to do here.

“I was wondering,” Colt continued, looking back to Jane, “if I might… if you would be interested in… in going walking with me this evening, Miss Richardson. I would certainly appreciate the pleasure of your company.”

“I have no plans after dinner,” Jane said with a dip of her head and a little… was she _blushing_!? “It would be my own pleasure to accompany you this evening, Mr. Colt.”

Gabriel shook his head as obviously as he could, but Jane was ignoring him. The angel groaned silently, flopping back on the prairie. Hell wasn’t opening up beneath him. It was right in front of him.


	34. Celebrations and Lamentations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gate is closed! It’s time to party!

### Celebrations and Lamentations

The workers finished laying the last rails two weeks before the fated alignment of the planes, a fact Gabriel welcomed with quiet relief. He was sitting in his tent, his head propped in his hands, trying to will away the throbbing headache that had been plaguing him for the better part of a month. The demons had started attacking his wards in earnest about ten weeks back, and Gabriel had spent practically every free moment holding them off. Each time he faced off against the demons, he prayed he wouldn’t recognize Cariel in any of them. So far, he had been lucky, and Cariel had always been mercifully absent. The demons who _did_ come managed to break through in several places, but Gabriel had been quick enough to beat them back before they could damage the rails or injure any workers. Each time was harder than the last, though, and Gabriel could feel his grace struggling to recover so close to the Hell Gate.

Now that all five lines were in place and all five churches consecrated, Gabriel could finally relax. No matter how much the demons flung themselves at the rails, the trap would hold. It was strong enough to restrain Azazel himself. None of these lower level demons stood a chance, not even in their multitudes. The demons seemed to have realized the futility of their attacks, finally pulling back around midnight last night.

“Lie down.” Jane had been the one to bring Gabriel the news, her initial excitement fading as soon as she saw the exhaustion on her papa’s face. She had rushed out of the tent and returned now with a basin of steaming water. “When was the last time you slept?”

“I don’t sleep,” Gabriel retorted, stretching out on his unused cot (for appearances only) for his daughter’s sake. Thorn yipped happily, hopping onto the cot and climbing over Gabriel’s legs to sprawl out across his knees.

“You know what I mean,” Jane chided as she knelt beside him. “Rest. When was the last time you rested?” She soaked a cloth in the water and wrung it out before laying it across Gabriel’s forehead.

The angel hissed at the dampness against his skin, but the water was hot, close to boiling, and the heat was soothing. He closed his eyes and sighed as Jane repeated the process with a fresh cloth, removing the old one as soon as it started cooling. “It’s been a while.”

“I told you, you needed to stay in the best condition,” Jane scolded. “If Beelzebub attacks now…”

“He can’t get in.” Gabriel slowly relaxed under Jane’s ministrations. “Just get everyone over the lines, and they’ll be safe.”

“That’s all well and good most days, but there’s going to be a shindig tonight next town over. They’ve got a band, and I heard they’re laying out a dance floor.” Jane set the bowl aside as the water inside cooled too much to help Gabriel and just sat beside him, lightly stroking his hair. He smiled faintly, turning into her caress. “We won’t be able to keep the men close enough for the trap to protect them.”

“You’re a good girl, Jane,” Gabriel murmured.

“I try,” she answered, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “Even to my stubborn papa.”

“Are you going to this shindig?”

“I am.” There was a guarded tone to Jane’s voice that hadn’t been there a moment ago, and Gabriel cracked an eye open. “Samuel asked me to accompany him.”

“It’s _Samuel_ now?” Gabriel hadn’t been blind to the burgeoning affection between his daughter and the hunter, but Jane was clever herself, and had often found ways to slip off without letting Gabriel follow her. He couldn’t veil himself completely from her, so she always knew if he was spying. In the past couple of months, though, he hadn’t had even an hour to spare to keep an eye on the two. Who knew what they had gotten up to in that wealth of privacy! “Do you let him call you Jane?”

“He calls me Miss Jane, so I suppose that’s a yes.” Jane rolled around to sit beside the cot, her back to Gabriel, and she drew her knees up. “I accepted his invitation, Papa. I _like_ him. He’s absolutely brilliant, and he likes me too.”

“He doesn’t know what you are,” Gabriel warned, sitting up and putting his hand on Jane’s shoulder. Thorn grumbled at the movement, shifting off to lie beside the angel.

“Why does he have to?”

“Jane…” Gabriel sighed, drawing Jane onto the cot with him and enfolding her in a hug. “Angel, I love you. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“Samuel wouldn’t hurt me. He _couldn’t_.”

“Even with his fancy, improved gun?” Gabriel tucked one of Jane’s curls behind her ear and shook his head. “That’s not the type of hurt I’m talking about, sweet. You would be lying to him, every day.”

“So?” Jane asked sullenly, trying not to let Gabriel catch her eye.

“ _So_ , that sort of lying wears on a person. You will hate that you can’t tell him everything. You will _ache_ with the desire to confess everything and hope he still accepts you. It will eat you up inside, and when you have to let him go, you’ll be consumed with wondering what if you had only been honest from the start.” Gabriel smoothed his thumbs over Jane’s cheeks, waiting for her to finally look up at him. “I lied to your father, Jane, for thirty-two years, and I still wonder if I could have saved him had I only been honest.”

“Well then, maybe I’ll be honest from the start! I’m not like you, Papa. I can make different choices.”

“He’s a hunter, Jane. He kills people like you, and you know it.”

“But he likes me.” Jane’s voice was small, and her posture was sagging.

Gabriel wrapped Jane in another hug, rubbing her back like he had when she was a child. “Then enjoy what you have now. Go to the dance with him. Let him love you for tonight, and when we leave his life, cherish your memories of him. But do not try to create a life with him. He can only break your heart.”

By the time the party rolled around, Gabriel had managed to put a smile on Jane’s face by snapping her up a new dress, one of blue taffeta and black lace that bared her shoulders and hugged her curves. She would look beautiful for her night with Samuel, and she rewarded Gabriel with a kiss on the cheek before Samuel arrived with his carriage.

Gabriel opted to walk to the party, letting the fresh air clear his head a little. The nearest official town was about half a mile away to the northwest, though you could hardly tell from all of the people who had settled in tents around Colt’s Folly, as the five railways were already being called. The men had come for work, but the women had followed, and merchants seeing the potential for profit from all of the laborers with fresh wages in their hands. The five churches had fairly quickly turned into functioning houses of worship, each with a genuine angel feather in a gilded reliquary, and Gabriel could tell that little villages would soon spring up around each one. The first church already had a couple wooden buildings around it: a general store, a post office, and a doctor’s office. There was talk of hooking the Folly up to a rail line back east to allow better transportation… but that was all for someone else to worry about. As long as the original five lines remained in their current layout, the men could do whatever else they wanted to them.

As soon as Gabriel crossed the completed trap, the crushing weight of the opening Hell Gate vanished from his grace. He still felt wrung out from his prolonged exposure to the concentrated evil, but his mood was rapidly improving. His strength would return in a couple days; no permanent damage had been done. Perhaps he would even be able to enjoy himself at this celebration.

The evening was calm as dusk slowly stretched across the land, the sun setting to the west in a beautiful display of pinks and purples, streaking the clouds with brilliant colors. They seemed to be purely natural clouds, with no demonic taint. The angel was searching for any sign that Beelzebub might be crashing this party, but he couldn’t feel the demon’s vile presence anywhere around.

Gabriel smiled and nodded at the workers he passed on their own way to the party, exchanging congratulations and shaking hands of anyone who offered one. The party was in full swing by the time he arrived, with a six piece band playing a reel and a crowd of dancers spinning and stomping on the dance floor. He could make out Jane in her blue dress in the middle of the crowd, hand-in-hand with Samuel Colt, both of them with eyes only for each other. Gabriel smiled at their happiness, though it was tinged with sadness, and he headed toward the refreshments table to get himself a cup of whatever they were offering.

Gabriel himself was pulled into many dances as the celebration wore on. He waltzed and capered and promenaded with anyone who offered and any woman who was looking on longingly. Jane spotted him twirling an eighty-year-old woman around and laughed brightly, clapping at him. The woman, Elizabeth, had to stop dancing before the song ended, apologizing profusely for being out of breath so soon. “I haven’t danced like that in ages!” she exclaimed, squeezing Gabriel’s hand tightly as he helped her find a seat where she could watch the dancing. “I hope you do forgive this old woman for cutting your fun short. I certainly did enjoy it while it lasted!”

“Nonsense, my fine lady,” Gabriel assured her, bending over her hand to kiss her knuckles. “I assure you, age is but a number, and tonight you are a thousand times younger than I.”

“You are far too kind,” the woman laughed, pressing one wrinkled hand to her flushed face.

A gunshot rang out over the crowd, and Gabriel twisted around sharply, his grace catching on a discordant rot that was suddenly exploding through the town. Beelzebub! The dancers were screaming and running for cover, and Samuel and Jane were trying to herd them without becoming trampled themselves.

“Now, now, now, where are you all running to?” More possessed men filtered out of the shadows, blocking the exits and corralling the panicking humans back into the center of town. Beelzebub himself, still in his droopy-mustached meatsuit, strode slowly through the middle, tucking his gun away. “Do you have any idea what you’ve _DONE_?” He bellowed the last word into the night, and the sky answered with a flash of lightning and a loud crack of thunder. “You’ve been messing with _Hell_ , kiddies! Every last one of you has been _tainted_!”

“Stop scaring them.” Gabriel didn’t shout, or even raise his voice, but he touched his grace to his words to let them echo over the crying of the trapped humans. He stepped away from Elizabeth and stalked toward Beelzebub, wishing he didn’t still have his headache from earlier. The crowd parted before him, exposing him to the demon’s view. “That’s not very nice.” He was hardly at full power right now, but Beelzebub was no match for an Archangel, even a weakened one.

Or so Gabriel hoped.

“ _You_ ,” Beelzebub hissed, drawing his gun again and pointing it at Gabriel. There was no Rite of AshkEnte inscribed on this weapon, nothing more than cold steel. Gabriel didn’t even flinch. “You died.”

“Me,” Gabriel agreed. “And I’m afraid not. Bit harder to kill than you might think. Have to use wood, you see, specially prepared.” At least, that was Loki’s vulnerability. A wooden stake, dipped in the blood of one of his victims. “Let them go. This was all my idea.”

“Let them go?” Beelzebub looked around at the hundreds of humans penned in by his demons. “Oh sure, Loki. Because you came back from the dead, I’ll let them go, just for you.”

“Wait, don’t-!” Gabriel threw out his hands, hurling Loki’s power at Beelzebub, but he was a fraction of a second too slow to stop the demon from firing his gun into the air. Every demon howled in laughter and lunged toward the nearest human, their hands closing around fragile necks.

The sound of fifty spines snapping in unison was one Gabriel knew would haunt him for the rest of his immortal life.

Gabriel’s scream was drowned out by the fresh wave of panic gripping the humans, all trying to run as the demons surged into the crowd, rampantly killing. Gabriel charged Beelzebub, ripping his knife from his sheath and flinging it ahead of him. It buried itself hilt-deep into Beelzebub’s throat with a spray of blood, and the demon staggered back, snarling in pain.

Snarling.

Not falling over dead.

 _Well, shit!_ Gabriel hadn’t made the blade strong enough to take out Beelzebub (which meant it would be useless if he ever encountered Azazel). He’d have to draw his sword or burn the demon out using his grace, both of which were risky. There were too many demons around. If even one of them escaped, Gabriel’s identity could be revealed in Hell.

Beelzebub yanked the sword from his throat and flung it back at Gabriel, aiming for his head. Gabriel snatched the knife out of the air without breaking his charge, twirling around and shouting Jane’s name. “Catch!” He let the knife fly before he was facing Beelzebub again, tackling the Knight of Hell to the ground.

Lightning illuminated the night, the screaming barely being drowned out by the rolls of thunder. Someone—Colt?—was shouting for people to pray, dammit, pray like their lives depended on it! Gabriel could just make out the sizzle and spark of dying demons as Jane ripped through them with the enchanted knife, punctuated by gunshots, but he was a bit distracted by the demon trying to snap his own neck.

Gabriel and Beelzebub wrestled across the dance floor. They were fighting for control of Beelzebub’s gun, but while Gabriel managed to shoot the demon once in the heart, Beelzebub got him in the stomach.

Neither wound was fatal.

Gabriel snapped Beelzebub’s neck, but the demon kicked him in the groin, which definitely hurt a lot worse. The screaming had stopped, but there was still some crying in the background, and someone throwing up. Beelzebub slammed Gabriel into the ground, then slammed him again. Gabriel could feel his skull crack and split, and he almost laughed at the thought that _this_ might release some of the pressure inside his head. He shoved at Beelzebub, kicked a foot beneath the demon’s chest and tried to throw him off. Beelzebub snarled, pressing down against Gabriel’s leg, blood from his injuries dripping onto the angel’s face. Dad help him, but this needed to end!

A shot exploded at point-blank range, and Beelzebub’s expression shattered over Gabriel, the demon sparking orange within the dead man. The angel retched, shoving the body off him and twisting over to spit blood and brains out of his mouth.

“Papa!” Gabriel barely heard Jane’s cry over the ringing in his ears, but he did feel her hands on his back, her fingers slipping through the blood on his face as she caught his head between her hands and made him look at her. “Are you hurt? Did the bullet hit you? Answer me!”

Gabriel pried Jane’s hands away and turned to cough and spit again, eventually wiping his arm over his mouth and looking back at his daughter. Jane was pale beneath her prairie tan, her perfectly coiffed hair was a flyaway mess, and the dress she had loved so much was completely ruined, stained with mud and blood and torn in several places. Still, her eyes were focused only on Gabriel, the worry etched in every line of her face. “I’m fine,” he assured her, taking a shuddering breath. “Messy, but I’ll live.”

“Oh Papa!” Jane flung her arms around Gabriel’s shoulders and he held her tightly, pressing his face against her hair as she sobbed into his shoulder.

Colt cleared his throat after a minute, standing beside the pair. He was looking shell-shocked himself, still holding his fantastic gun in his hand. Gabriel would never speak a word against that magnificent thing again. Sure, _his_ life hadn’t been in danger from Beelzebub, but Colt had managed to end the demon without revealing Gabriel’s identity. Gabriel knew how to recognize miracles when they happened right on top of him.

Jane pulled away from Gabriel, wiping her face with her hands. “Samuel, I…”

“They’re dead.” Colt looked around the town slowly, then back down at Gabriel and Jane. “Everyone. This town. It’s… dead. They’re all dead.”

“No…” Jane shook her head, clenching her hands into fists against her chest. “No, no, _no_! No, we were doing so well! We hadn’t lost a single worker, not one, not _one_! No! They were all supposed to live!”

“This is my fault.” Gabriel pulled his legs out from under him, sitting in the blood pooling from Beelzebub’s body and not caring about the state of his trousers. “I shouldn’t have assumed they’d stay away. I should’ve protected this town too…”

“That’s not what you were being paid to do, Mr. Lucas,” Colt admitted. “Defend the trap, not the town. Mr. Lucas?” Colt rubbed his hand over his mouth, looking up at the moon before turning his attention back to Gabriel. “ _Loki_?”

“Heh.” Gabriel pushed himself to his feet, squeezing Jane’s shoulder on the way up. “Hoped you hadn’t heard that.”

Colt pointed his gun at Gabriel’s heart, and Gabriel held up his hands. Could Colt’s gun kill him? The angel didn’t know, and he didn’t want to test it. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Samuel, no!” Jane leapt to her feet, planting herself between Gabriel and the gun. “He’s not an enemy, Samuel. He’s not a monster.”

The gun’s aim swung down a little, pointing now at Jane’s heart. “And you?” Colt asked quietly. “You called him ‘Papa.’ Explains a lot.”

Gabriel’s hand lashed out, quick as a snake, and he slapped the gun out of Colt’s hand. “You do _not_ get to point that at her,” he snapped.

Colt stepped back, fisting his hands at his sides and glaring at the pair. “Are you Loki?” he demanded. “The _god_ Loki? Of tricks and mischief?”

“Yes.” Gabriel stepped around Jane, putting her behind him. “And Jane is my daughter, a demi-god in her own right. Half _human_ , Samuel.” He released his posture, letting his whole body show openness to the hunter. “We don’t stand against you. We fight on humanity’s side.”

“I can’t trust you.”

“We haven’t lied.” Jane didn’t try to get in front of Gabriel again, but she did stand beside him. “Samuel, aside from our true identities, we haven’t lied to you about anything. Hell _was_ trying to open here. Surely the presence of these demons alone is enough to corroborate our story.”

“I like humans,” Gabriel added. “Once,” he glanced at Jane as he spoke, “I loved one. I don’t want humanity to die out. I don’t want Hell to rule. I like Earth the way it is.”

Colt gave a jerk of his head, swallowing thickly. “All these people,” he finally said, gesturing around them. “All these people _died_ because of what we did.”

“What I failed to do,” Gabriel corrected, shouldering the blame for their deaths. What were several hundred more souls weighing on his conscience, after all the thousands he had already failed as an angel? “May their souls find peace.”

“Will they?” Colt looked between Gabriel and Jane. “ _Will_ they find peace? Or are they going to Hell, like that demon said?”

Jane looked to Gabriel for an answer, and Gabriel shook his head. “Proximity to the Hell Gate doesn’t taint your soul. They were all working _against_ Hell. That’s a big white mark for them. I don’t think anyone working for us was so corrupt as to end up in Hell despite all that.”

Colt nodded shortly, still looking suspicious. “You’re gonna help me bury them,” he finally declared. “Good Christian burials, for every last one. You’re gonna help me find their names, and we’re gonna put up tombstones for all of them. Every damn one.”

“Of course,” Jane assured Colt. “We would have done that anyway.”

“Good,” Samuel grunted. “Then let’s begin.”


	35. The Parting of the Ways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel and Samuel Colt are going to go their separate ways, but which direction does Jane choose?

### The Parting of the Ways

By the time Colt, Jane, and Gabriel had finished the burials, all five churchyards were full of neatly-inscribed tombstones. They had run out of room around the churches, so Gabriel moved the remaining bodies into the center of the trap, and the three buried the dead around the mausoleum that locked away the door to Hell. After the bodies was laid to rest, Jane and Colt spoke softly off to the side while Gabriel went around and murmured a small prayer over their grave so the souls of the dead would help further tighten the net over the Hell Gate and keep Lilith and her evil brood imprisoned.

He didn’t tell Colt.

When their work was finally done, Gabriel flew Colt and Jane back to New York City. Colt secreted himself away in his workshop, while Gabriel took Jane to a café that served the finest chocolate cake in the whole city.

Halfway through her slice, Jane set down her fork with a sigh. “Papa? Can we talk?”

“We can always talk, Jane,” Gabriel assured her over his mug of coffee. “What’s on your mind?”

Jane blotted at her lips with her napkin and set it on the table before folding her hands demurely in her lap. “I love you very much,” she began. “But I’m not a child anymore. And while I love you, and I love travelling with you and seeing the world… There comes a time in a woman’s life when she just wants a home. A steady home, a place to belong.”

Gabriel sat back in his chair, letting his face remain impassive. He knew what was coming. He had been watching the signs for months now.

In all honesty, Gabriel had been trying to prepare himself for this conversation ever since Jane was thirteen. He had known she wouldn’t always be happy traveling at his side, always following his lead. Jane was a ferociously stubborn and independent woman, strong and determined. Gabriel had raised her that way, and he couldn’t change that now. Still, he was going to let her say her piece. She clearly put a lot of thought into it, from how deliberate she was with her words.

“I love Samuel. I know you don’t approve of him, but… I _love_ him, Papa. And he… he still loves me. He knows the truth… well, he knows I’m not fully human. He _knows_ , Papa, and he still wants to try. He wants to try to love me.”

“Does he, now?” Gabriel frowned slightly at Jane, remembering the look on Colt’s face as the three of them stood in that blood-soaked town. “Even knowing you are the daughter of Loki?”

“He doesn’t…” Jane closed her eyes and gave a little sigh. “You convinced him I was worth not giving up on.”

“ _I_ convinced him?” Gabriel set his mug down. “How the hell did I manage that? We’ve hardly spoken two words to each other since the massacre!”

Jane’s grey eyes opened again, and she smiled over the table at Gabriel. “You didn’t let him threaten me. He could point his gun at you all he wanted, you _let_ him, but the moment he threatened your little girl, you stopped him. You loved me.”

“Of course I loved you,” Gabriel retorted. “You’re my child!”

“You _loved_ , Papa.” Jane shook her head slightly, brushing a curl out of her face. “He can respect love. Hunters… when they look at non-humans, they don’t see love. They see monsters. But if you can prove to a hunter that you _can_ love? That you _do_ love?”

“Bunch of softies, the lot of them,” Gabriel grumbled, picking up his mug again. He understood Jane’s point, though. Love was the thing that hunters used most often to differentiate between the things being hunted and the things needing help. Gabriel had to be careful not to get hunters to start caring about him whenever he wanted a bit of a challenge. As long as he pissed them off, they would fight back. The moment they started pitying him, they lost the spark that made them so much _fun_.

“You loved me, which meant I had to be capable of love myself,” Jane explained. “Of loving _him_. He wants to try, Papa. He wants me to stay with him. He wants to make a life with me.”

“A fine, rich, intelligent man. Everything you’ve always dreamed of,” Gabriel said, trying not to give away how his heart was clenching in his chest despite all his mental preparation for eventually saying good-bye to the child he raised. “You’d get to be a lovely little socialite in one of the biggest cities this side of the Atlantic.”

“No.” Jane gave a little shake of her head. “No, we’d go back out west. He wants to settle by the trap, to keep an eye on it and make sure it holds up these first few years. You said the next alignment was in three years? We’d want to be out there for it. And for the churches. We’d want to see if towns actually do develop, and we’d try to help their growth. We want to make Wyoming come alive, Papa, in penance for all the death we brought to that land.”

“And you’re asking for my blessing?” Gabriel asked, picking up his fork and delicately shearing off a piece of his cake.

Jane took a deep breath. “No,” she admitted. “I’m not. Because I’m not asking you. I won’t have you say no to me. I am my own woman now, and I’m _telling_ you: this is what I’m going to do. I hope you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me, someday, for leaving you.”

“ _Jane._ ” Gabriel set his fork down, reaching across the table to take Jane’s hands in his. “Jane, absolutely not! I will never forgive you for leaving me, because I will never be upset with you for growing up!”

The confusion in Jane’s eyes broke Gabriel’s heart even more surely than her official declaration of independence. He had raised her to be strong, but had he also raised her to think his will was as absolute and unforgiving as his own Father’s? Gabriel reached up to cup her cheek in one hand. “Jane, my angel… he makes you happy?”

“Yes,” Jane whispered.

“You trust him?”

“With my life.”

“Then go with him.” Gabriel smiled sadly at his daughter over the table. “Go with him and _be_ happy. It’s not my place to stop you.”

Jane shook her head a little against Gabriel’s hand. “I don’t understand,” she whispered. “You never liked the idea of me with him, Papa. I saw how you glared at him.”

“Jane,” Gabriel reminded her carefully, “I glare at _every_ man who looks at you with an impure thought in his mind. You’re my little girl. You always will be. I will always be your Papa. I’m afraid the glaring comes with the job description.”

“So you don’t hate him?”

Gabriel sighed. “If I had to pick a human for you to love, Jane, I would pick him. As long as you’re sure he won’t hunt you, I would pick him. He is everything you need in a man: smart, educated, and strong, aware of our world, of what we are—mostly. He has some class and a great aim, and he certainly knows how to pick phenomenal women. What’s not to like?”

“He’s taking your little girl away.”

“Yeah.” Gabriel closed his eyes. “There is that. _He’s_ the one I’ll need to forgive someday.”

“It’s not going to be forever. Samuel is still just a mortal man.”

“You won’t want to come back, after you’ve tasted freedom.” If Jane was anything like he was, forging her own path in the world would be the most liberating thing she would ever do with her life, the most rewarding. She might return to Gabriel’s side occasionally, like Gabriel wished he could with his brothers, but she would never stay. Even if Gabriel could return to Heaven, he knew he’d never be happy living only there. This would ruin Jane’s taste for a life with her papa, just as Gabriel had been ruined for a life with only angels.

Gabriel took one of Jane’s hands in both of his, raising her fingers to his lips. “You write to me, often, you hear? I’ll get a permanent address for you to send letters to, but I expect you to write frequently. I’ll visit for your birthday, or you can come to visit me—you won’t get rid of me for the most special day of the year—but I’ll let you live your life otherwise. And if you ever, _ever_ feel in danger from him, or from anything beyond your abilities, you pray to me and I’ll come immediately. You understand me?”

Jane smiled, the first brilliant grin she’d given since the massacre in Wyoming. “I understand, Papa!”

“Come here.” Gabriel got up from the table to wrap Jane in a hug, holding her tightly. He never wanted to let her go. “I _love_ you, Jane. Don’t you ever forget that. Not ever.”

After finishing their cake on a much brighter note (brighter for Jane, at least, though Gabriel still felt his heart flattened within his chest), Jane went off to find Samuel to tell him the good news.

Gabriel sought a bar. He didn’t care that it was only half past two in the afternoon. He threw himself onto a stool and sunk his head in his hands. “Whatever your strongest drink is, give me a double,” he grumbled to the bartender.

“Bad day?” the older man beside him asked, giving him a sympathetic look. He was nursing his own frothy beer, a little bit of foam clinging to his mustache.

“The worst.” Gabriel folded his arms on the bar and sunk his head into the warm cradle.

The man patted Gabriel’s shoulder sympathetically. “Come on, grab your drink and sit with me in the corner. You can tell me your story.”

Gabriel groaned to himself as he accepted his glass from the bartender and followed the other man into a shadowy corner of the bar. The man was shorter even than him, dressed in simple, comfortable clothes. His eyes were far too bright for his age, and Gabriel frowned slightly as he sat across from the man. Something was off here, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

“I’m Marv,” the man introduced himself as they took their seats.

“Lucas,” Gabriel grunted, giving Marv a nod.

“So what’s the big problem to make you so grumpy so early in the day?” Marv sipped from his beer, trying to lounge casually in his chair. The effect was ruined by the fidgeting and constant shifting as he attempted to find a better position. Marv was trying way too hard to impress him. Gabriel had to smile despite himself.

“My daughter’s decided to run off with a scoundrel,” he admitted to Marv.

“Oh no! He swept her off her feet? Wooed her away with dashing tales of adventure and romance?”

“Something like that.” Gabriel sighed and shook his head. “No, no, he’s a good man. Helped save the world. But she’s my only child, and we’ve been together for a long time. I’m going to miss her.”

“Helped save the world?” Marv cocked his head to the side, a gesture that struck a nerve inside Gabriel’s spirit. Something about this man was _familiar_ , but Gabriel still couldn’t quite place it. “Is he a hunter? Is that the problem? She’s running off with a hunter? Does he know she’s inhuman?”

“What?” Gabriel sat up straight, staring across the table at Marv. “What are you talking about?”

“You know what I mean!” Marv was practically bouncing in his seat. “You’re non-human, like me, so your daughter must be too! It has been an eternity since I had a chance to talk to someone else who _understands_. This is incredible! I’m so glad you came in today!”

“You’re not human?” Gabriel raked his eyes over the excitable man, trying to pick out something, _anything_ , that gave away a less than human identity. Aside from the brightness to his eyes, this man registered as a perfectly normal human. “What are you supposed to be, then, a werewolf?”

“Angel!” Marv grinned into his beer, both his hands twisting around the glass. “I’m an _angel_!”

Liquid fire raced through Gabriel’s grace, and he tamped it down hurriedly. _Angel_. Of course. A weaker angel could veil completely and hide even from an Archangel’s eyes. They genuinely did register as completely normal humans. Raphael used Cherubim as spies, and Cherubim had the easiest time hiding. Of course, there was no Cherubim, or any angel, for that matter, named _Marv_ , but that didn’t mean anything. There was no angel named Lucas either.

He was talking to an angel, and he’d admitted he had a daughter. A Nephilim. An _abomination_.

 _Calm down,_ Gabriel told himself. _Calm! He doesn’t seem to realize who you are, or what she is! Don’t give it away!_

Forcing his hand to remain steady, Gabriel picked up his glass and took a swig of his drink. “Angel, huh? Prove it.”

“Prove it?” Marv’s lips pooched out when he frowned.

“Prove it,” Gabriel repeated. “Everyone knows angels left Earth almost two thousand years ago. _Prove_ you’re an angel.”

“Well, I never really, er… let me just…” Marv twisted around, rummaging at his side. Gabriel saw a flash of wings spreading behind the man, just one set, so Dominion or lower, and then Marv was turning back to Gabriel, one iridescent feather between thumb and forefinger.

One _silver-edged_ feather.

_Metatron._

Metatron, the Scribe of God, who had taken God’s Word and run. Metatron, the only other rogue angel. Metatron, the annoying little shit who was always hiding in God’s shadow.

Gabriel had not liked Metatron from the moment he was first introduced to the Cherub. As far as he could tell, if it hadn’t started out that way, the feeling had definitely grown to be mutual over the centuries.

“How’s that, hmm?” Marv—no, Metatron—asked, wiggling the feather Gabriel’s way. “Genuine angel feather, from a genuine angel.”

Gabriel reached out and plucked the feather from his little brother’s fingers, careful not to let their skin touch. It was the genuine article, still thrumming with grace. “Huh. Whaddya know. You _are_ the real deal.”

Metatron also hadn’t recognized Gabriel. Not if he was so eager for Gabriel’s company. Gabriel rolled the feather between his fingers, wondering how best to handle this.

On the one hand, Metatron was an angel, and Gabriel had been making a point of avoiding angels for centuries. He couldn’t let Jane be found out by his brothers. They would try to kill her. Even Metatron would probably be eager to end her life, despite his distance from Heaven.

On the other hand, Metatron was a rogue angel, and probably burning with the same loneliness that had crippled Gabriel before Fergus, before Jane. Angels weren’t meant to be alone, especially not the younger Cherubim. Loneliness would explain Metatron’s ridiculous over-excitement at meeting another inhuman creature. Gabriel had always pretended to be a god and mixed easily with immortals, but Metatron was pretending to be a human, hidden away completely from notice. He was no threat to Gabriel like this, and probably no threat to Jane, so long as he remained ignorant to her true identity.

“I’ll just be taking that back, then.” Metatron reached across the table to pluck the feather away from Gabriel’s fingers. “Can’t be too careful. So. I’ve proven who I am. Your turn!”

“You already know I’m inhuman,” Gabriel answered with a smug little smile, making sure his wings were fully folded away inside his vessel. “I’m Loki, King of the Tricksters.”

“You’re a _god_?” Metatron’s eyes went wide, and he was leaning across the table again, eager to be close. “That has to be fascinating! What’s it like? What’s your daughter like? Is this Hel, or someone else? I’ve read all the stories, you know. The Poetic Edda, the Prose Edda… you’re one of my favorites. You’re so mischievous and clever! I love the way you put the other gods in their places. I wish I could do that. My brothers, especially my older brothers, can be so overbearing. That’s why I’m here, you know. Not in Heaven. Only angel on Earth. The others, the Archangels? They wanted to take over the universe, and have me tell them how to do it.”

“You talk a lot,” was all Gabriel could think to say in response to that. Metatron hardly paused for breath as he rambled excitedly. He really was burning up with loneliness. “What are you even doing here, in New York City? Hiding in plain sight?”

“No, not really. Just in for the day, for a visit. The hunter Samuel Colt is out of town, so I’m in! I’m usually out west, you know. Found a tribe of natives who consider me their wise man.” Metatron puffed himself up a little at that, hooking his thumbs through his suspenders. “I’ve been giving them immortality, and they’ve been giving me stories. So many stories! Humans are the best writers in the world. All that free will they have lets them create their own little worlds. I’ve tried my hand at writing a story myself, you know, but it’s harder than you’d think. Don’t have enough practice with imagination.”

“I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it…” Gabriel said, nodding along with Metatron’s words. Metatron was out west? Was he close to where Jane would be living? “I think I need to-”

“Papa?”

_Crap._

Jane approached the table, setting her hand lightly on Gabriel’s arm. “There you are, Papa. I think we’re ready to go.”

“Wonderful.” Gabriel smiled thinly at Jane, keeping an eye on Metatron the whole time. “Wonderful,” he repeated. “Let’s head out, then.”

“Is this your daughter?” Metatron asked, bustling to his feet. “Hello, hello my dear! I’m Marv! Your father has been telling me all about you!” He winked very pointedly at Jane.

Gabriel stood as well, wrapping an arm protectively around Jane’s back. “Yes, she is my daughter, and we really must be going now. It was nice to meet you… Marv.”

“A pleasure, I’m sure,” Jane offered, holding out her hand. Metatron pressed a kiss to the back of her knuckles, and Gabriel clenched his teeth, fighting the urge to knock the Cherub away from his little girl. “Samuel’s waiting outside, Papa, with our bags.”

“Samuel?” Metatron’s eyes went wide, and he looked to Gabriel in alarm. “Samuel _Colt_?”

“It’s a long story. Good day, Marv.” Gabriel gave a firm nod at the Cherub as he hustled Jane out the door.

“Who was that?” Jane hissed as soon as they were outside. “Papa, he was glowing just like you, only not as bright!”

“He’s dangerous.” Gabriel turned to Jane, seizing her by both shoulders. “Jane, you stay away from that man. If you ever see him again, you _run_.”

“Papa?”

“He’s an angel, Jane. He’s a Cherub named Metatron.”

“I thought you were the only one on Earth!”

Gabriel shook his head. “Metatron ran away from Heaven shortly before I did, and we never could find him. He says he’s been living out west. He’s not connected to Heaven right now, and I don’t think he realized who I was, but…” Gabriel crushed Jane against his chest, folding his wings around her. “Are you sure you have to leave _now_? I could stay with you, just sit in the back. You don’t even need a bedroom for me…”

“Papa.” Jane kissed Gabriel’s cheek and hugged him tight before pulling away. “I have to go. But I’ll be fine. Even if Metatron does come after us… I’ll be with Samuel. He has his gun. Everything will be all right.”

Gabriel sighed, running a hand through his hair before he unbuckled his knife belt and held it out to Jane. “Here… take your ‘ancient demon-killing knife of the Kurds,’ then. It won’t stop Metatron, but it might slow him down, and it should be good against most demons.”

Jane accepted the belt with a little smile. “Thank you, Papa. I’ll pray I never have to use it.”

“So will I.”


	36. 1861

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 1861, the greatest hunter to ever live passed away.

### 1861

It was raining in Sunrise, Wyoming, when Gabriel landed, so he made sure to come to a stop beneath the porch roof of the little cabin. He folded his wings in and removed his hat as he pushed the door open. It hadn’t been locked. It hadn’t even been closed fully.

The cabin was dark and empty, save for the lone figure curled up in the bed in the other room. Gabriel crossed over to the fireplace, setting a few logs in place before flicking his fingers and igniting them with just a spark of his grace. He set a kettle to boil over the fire before he went around the main room, pinching every lamp wick and candle to light them all, chasing away some of the gloom.

A perusal of the cupboards found Gabriel a battered tray and a chipped tea set that had seen better days, but it was clean and serviceable. He arranged the dishes on the tray and added a few chocolate cookies brought with him from Switzerland. That done, he glanced around the main room. There. By the desk. Gabriel crossed over to the gun belt and drew the old revolver out carefully.

The Colt. Already, this gun was infamous the world over. It could kill _anything_. Gabriel carefully opened the cylinder, reading the powerful runes carved into the metal. He glanced toward the bedroom, then toward the stove, and then carefully licked one finger and rubbed a few key lines out. The heat of his grace melted the metal just enough to change the meaning of this important component. It could still kill _most_ things, but now it wasn’t strong enough to destroy an Archangel’s grace. Gabriel let out a breath, ten years of tension able to finally drain away.

By the time the kettle whistled, Gabriel had the gun tucked away again as if he had never touched it. As the angel prepared the tea, he picked up an abandoned whiskey bottle and added a hearty dollop of the liquor to one of the cups, and after a moment’s hesitation, to the other. Finally, he picked up the tray and headed into the bedroom.

The figure in the bed curled up tighter as Gabriel entered, pulling the blankets over its head, but Gabriel was undeterred. He set the tray down on the nightstand and sat gently on the mattress, reaching out to find a shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“No ‘I told you so’?” Jane pushed the blankets back and sat up slowly, rubbing her hands over her red eyes. “No ‘this was always going to happen’?”

“No.” Gabriel picked up a tea cup and offered it to his grieving daughter. “Just tea. And chocolate. I could offer you a dog too, if I didn’t think he’d eat all your cookies and then fart up a storm. Need to figure out why he’s being so gassy.” Jane couldn’t stop a giggle at that thought, and Gabriel wrapped a wing around her, picking up his own cup. “Have you been here ever since?”

Jane nodded against Gabriel’s shoulder, grabbing the edge of his wing and pulling it tight around her like a living blanket. “Is this what it was like when my father died?” she asked. “How did you ever endure?”

Gabriel closed his eyes, trying not to remember that fateful day but completely failing. “I almost didn’t,” he said. “I threw a temper tantrum loud enough to attract the attention of angels. I actually got caught by one, but mercifully, by probably the only one who was willing to let me escape. I hid on a boat for six months, and I refused to eat.”

“Good thing you don’t have to,” Jane murmured.

“ _I_ don’t, but you did.” Gabriel kissed the top of Jane’s head. “Nearly killed us both. Would have too, probably, if your Aunt Kali hadn’t slapped some sense into me.”

“Is that how you survived without him?” Jane asked. “You stayed alive for me?”

“Yes. You needed me. I couldn’t give up on you.” Gabriel couldn’t stop the glance down to Jane’s belly, but she shook her head, covering it with a hand.

“I’m not pregnant. I don’t think I even could _become_ pregnant.” Her lips twitched a little, and she turned against Gabriel’s side, wrapping her arms around him. He hugged her back, tucking her against his chest like he was a child. “We _tried_. I wanted a child, wanted _his_ child, but we never… ten years, and nothing happened. And I was thinking… mules.”

“Mules?”

“Mules have a horse mother and a donkey father, and never have foals. Not ever. Maybe I’m like a mule. Angel mother, human father, no children.”

“You’re not a mule,” Gabriel chided, trying to recall an instance of a second generation Nephilim to reassure Jane with, but none came to mind. “I mean, just because there hasn’t ever been children of Nephilim doesn’t necessarily mean there _can’t_ be. The original Nephilim were very busy with a war, after all, and with Lucifer always watching over them.”

“Thank you for trying to make me feel better, Papa, but maybe you should stop talking,” Jane muttered.

Gabriel fell silent, hugging Jane against his side again. She sipped at her tea and stared blankly at the far wall, not saying anything for twenty minutes.

“I wasn’t even with him when he died.” Jane reached up to wipe at her eyes again. “We agreed a couple years ago that I needed to move on. People were asking too many questions, frowning too much. It wasn’t proper for such an old man and such a young lady to be living together, and I couldn’t… I couldn’t call myself his daughter, not even just in public.” She sniffed, pressing the rim of her cup against her chin. “So I left, and he moved here. I left him the knife. I gave him a journal too, told him to write things down since he wouldn’t have me to talk to anymore. He wanted to give me the gun, but I wouldn’t take it. Demons were coming after _him_ , after all, Samuel Colt, the man who held back Hell. They didn’t care about me.”

“I’m sure he knew you still loved him at the end,” Gabriel said. “Even though you couldn’t be with him.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have done this,” Jane whispered. “Maybe I shouldn’t have tried to live a life with him. Maybe it wouldn’t have hurt so much…”

“No, Jane,” Gabriel murmured against her hair. “No, absolutely not. It hurts now, I know it does, believe me, I know, but you were happy for all those years. No one can ever take that from you. This hurt will grow duller, given time, but that happiness will never fade. I wish I could take away your pain now, but I would never wish for you to have not experienced that joy.”

Jane twisted into Gabriel’s lap with a sob, and Gabriel barely had enough time to rescue her tea before he needed to hold her as she cried, rocking her gently.

The pair stayed in Sunrise for a week. Gabriel eventually brought Thorn to join them, and the little dog curled up with his mistress every night, letting her hold him as she slept fitfully. Gabriel accompanied Jane as she set flowers on Colt’s grave, and he helped her pack up his things, especially those pertaining to hunting.

“There’s a family of hunters further east who might appreciate some of this,” Jane said as she tucked Colt’s journal into a box. “The Campbells. I think I might anonymously leave it on their doorstep.”

“There’s another group spreading over here from Europe, calling themselves the Men of Letters. They’re not exactly hunters themselves, but they help those who do hunt. Perhaps Colt can make a donation to them of some of his millions, help them get established here.”

“That’s a good idea.” Jane put the last of Colt’s books in the box and closed the lid. “I think I’m going to leave the gun in town.”

“Here?” Gabriel frowned, glancing back in the direction of Sunrise. “There aren’t any hunters here.”

“No, but old man Elkins, who runs the saloon, has seen more than his fair share of the supernatural. He’s the only man Samuel considered a real friend here, according to his journal.” Jane closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. “I think I’ll leave the gun with him, and explain the significance of Colt’s Folly. He can watch over it for us, and his children can when he dies. It can be their family legacy.”

“Sounds like you’ve thought everything through.”

“I’ve tried.” Jane rested her hands on the box and looked around the desolate little cabin. “I think that’s everything.”

Gabriel picked up a knife belt, Jane’s “ancient demon-killing knife of the Kurds,” and she smiled a little, holding out a hand for it. “What are you going to do next?” Gabriel asked, watching his daughter strap the belt around her waist, her fingers lingering on the hilt of the knife. “Because I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to come along with me.”

Jane shook her head slowly. “I love you, Papa, but… you were right.”

“You’ve been spoiled for freedom.”

“I finally feel grown-up,” Jane admitted with a little shrug. “And I love it.”

Gabriel smiled sadly, crossing the room and cupping Jane’s cheek in one hand. “I love you, Angel. I miss you every day.”

“I miss you too, Papa, but I have to go my own way.” Jane leaned in to kiss Gabriel’s cheek. “You write to me, and I’ll write to you. We’ll have to find wonderful places to meet for my birthdays.”

“We’ll plan them months in advance.”

“And you have to dress up.” Jane pointed a finger at Gabriel. “I want to see you in nothing less than a suit!”

Gabriel chuckled, nodding as he stepped back from Jane. “Until then?”

“Until then.”

Gabriel whistled for Thorn, and the dog came bounding over to the angel. He gathered Thorn up in his arms, gave Jane one last look, and spread his wings.


	37. Apocalypse Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It all ends with a pair of brothers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of the story, but it is not the story's end. There are three more short one-shots from this 'verse that I will be posting over the next week, and I am always happy to answer any questions about anything in it.
> 
> A huge thank you goes to everyone who has read this, who has left kudos or bookmarked it, and especially to everyone who has left a comment! Thank you for sticking it out with me!

### Apocalypse Now

Gabriel tossed his flashlight into the air, spinning it three times end over end before catching it again. He whistled to himself as he made his rounds around the motel buildings, swinging one leg in front of the other in the methodical, centuries-tested walk of night guards everywhere. _Nine o’clock, and all’s well!_ he thought to himself.

For the past month, Gabriel had been the sole graveyard shift security officer for the Oatmeal Motel, just outside Ravenna, Ohio. The name harkened back to the days when Ravenna was the seat of the Quaker Mill Company, or so Gabriel had been informed when he joined the team.

The Oatmeal Motel didn’t need a security guard. Ravenna was hardly a hotbed of criminal activity. Gabriel didn’t care. Motels, especially cheap little backwaters ones like this one, just off the interstate, were great places to find people lacking guilt for their crimes. He had crisscrossed the country hundreds of times over now, handing out just desserts to people who really needed to atone for their crimes against their brothers. Loki praised him for his efforts, but Gabriel couldn’t take all the credit. So many punishments were actually dreamed up by the humans themselves. Metatron had been right. Humans _were_ the best writers. Their imagination left even Gabriel’s far in the dust.

“Come _on_ , Sammy!”

Gabriel smiled as he heard the voice of a child calling out with the exasperation known to all older siblings. Ah, yes, there he was. Just around the corner was a preteen boy tugging insistently on the arm of younger brother who was much more interested in trying to read his book by the spotty light of the parking lot lamps.

“If Dad beat us home, we’re gonna be in so much trouble!”

“Dad’s never home early, Dean,” the younger boy argued back, dragging his feet along the faded asphalt. “He won’t know.”

“Oh, he’ll know, cause I’ll tell him! I’ll tell him how you wouldn’t leave the library even though it was closing!”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

Gabriel leaned against a corner of the motel, watching the brothers with a fond smile on his face. He had always liked kids. Kids had all the best parts of humanity wrapped up inside them: trust, innocence, a willingness to believe, and _potential_. A kid could become _anything_ , and until they were taught otherwise by adults, they believed it.

The angel blinked, peering past the physical layers of the two boys to take a peek at their souls. Quite often, a human’s soul could give a hint at their future life without needing a trip through time.

_Michael, ancient and powerful, looked back at Gabriel, the familiar patterns of his spirit reaching for his little brother. Beside him, Lucifer laughed, his bright smile harkening back to the days of Sammael, the days before the Fall, before the War…_

Gabriel gasped, twisting around the corner away from the brothers and slamming his back against the brick wall. Michael? Lucifer? But those boys were _brothers_! Michael and Lucifer’s bloodlines had been kept apart, far apart, intentionally. It had been foretold that when brothers were born to a shared bloodline, the last days of the Earth were at hand.

_Apocalypse._

That was the term the Host used for the end of the world. The last war of the angels. Michael and Lucifer, possessing their true vessels, brothers once again, tearing the world open for their own selfish vengeance.

“It’s not them.” Gabriel took a deep breath, straightening his security officer’s jacket. He set his shoulders back, lifted his chin, and gave himself a firm nod. “It’s not them. I’m just seeing things. Too long alone.” He hadn’t been to visit Jane in five months, though he had talked to her just last week. Tomorrow, he’d resign his position here and go to find her. She’d forgive him for interrupting her life not on her birthday. He very rarely did that. It had been ten years since the last time he dropped in unexpectedly on his daughter. 

Last Gabriel had heard, Jane was in Montana, starting to work her way south through a string of restaurant jobs. Jane never was as big on punishing the wicked as Gabriel, but she had found a quiet love for working in service positions and listening to the stories of others. Without the constant temptation of Gabriel’s unlimited powers always close at hand, Jane’s dreams of grandeur had settled into something far more realistic. She still liked pretty things, but she no longer put so much value on being rich or famous or powerful.

Yes. Gabriel would visit his daughter, to remind himself that _she_ was his family, not these two boys who bore the marks of his brothers on their souls.

“But it’s not them,” Gabriel repeated to himself. 

But what if it _was_ them?

Gabriel peered around the corner. The boys had gone up to room 208. Gabriel hated 208. A hunter had moved in there and warded the place: nothing Gabriel couldn’t get through, but enough salt and crude magic to make his wings itch. These boys must be the hunter’s children; surely they were too young to be the hunter himself. 

The oldest, Dean, was fumbling with his keys. Sammy, the younger brother, still had his nose buried in his book. Once they went inside, Gabriel would be hard pressed to get a closer look without alerting them to his presence. He didn’t have _time_!

Quick and kludgy would have to be his method, then. He was dressed as a security guard. Time to guard.

With a snap of his fingers, Gabriel summoned up a tweaked-out thug to run up the stairs at the boys. “Gimme your money!” the thug snarled at the boys. Classic thug line. Gabriel came out from around the corner, heading toward the three at a fast clip.

“Whoa there,” Dean said, impressively calmly for a child being threatened by a man three times his size. He slowly reached for Sammy, trying to get in front of his brother. “We don’t have any money, Mister. We don’t want any trouble.”

“You gotta have something!” Oh, the thug had a knife! Where did he get that from? Gabriel didn’t remember intentionally giving the brute any weapons. Oh well. The angel wasn’t going to let the boys actually get hurt.

“Hey!” Gabriel approached the trio, his brow furrowed, one hand on the gun at his waist. He could _probably_ fire it, if he had to, but even after all these centuries, Gabriel preferred hand-to-hand combat if he had to fight at all. “What’s going on here?”

Dean’s eyes swept over Gabriel’s uniform and narrowed into thin slits, more mistrustful of the uniformed “official” than the man threatening him. “We’re fine,” he informed Gabriel, using the thug’s distraction to grab Sammy and yank the younger boy behind him.

“Doesn’t look fine to me,” Gabriel answered, clapping his hand on the man’s shoulder. “You know these boys?”

The thug scrubbed his arm under his nose, staring blearily at Gabriel through red-rimmed eyes. _You poor thing,_ Gabriel thought. _I really made a mess with you._

“We’re _fine_ ,” Dean stressed, but he was backing away from both adults, shoving Sammy along behind him. “We’re just… Dad!”

A third man loomed over Gabriel, dwarfing both him and his puppet thug. Ah. The hunter.

“Something going on here?” the father demanded, heavy hands falling on Gabriel and the puppet’s shoulders. Michael shone faintly in this man’s soul, giving him strength and resolve. Lucifer must have come from the mother’s side.

“These your boys?” Gabriel asked, gesturing at the kids with his flashlight, He turned his attention back to the two, his eyes roving over their souls. Michael stared back from Dean’s green eyes. The boy was every inch a physical manifestation of Michael’s grace. If Gabriel had been forced to draw a picture of his brother’s true form, this child would have been the result. At Dean’s side, Sammy’s sharp eyes held all of Lucifer’s intelligence and ability to love, his young face the very image of Gabriel’s own beloved brother. Though the two boys held the bloodlines of both Archangels, neither one of them showed the faintest glimmer of being at all suitable for the other. Dean was Michael’s and Sammy was Lucifer’s.

_The world will end with these two._

“They are,” the hunter grumbled, squeezing Gabriel’s shoulder. Gabriel just sparkled his very best smile up at the man, twisting out of his grip and yanking back on his puppet. “They causing problems, officer?”

“Nope, just making sure they weren’t being hassled by our friend here.” Gabriel slapped the puppet’s back and turned his smile on the boys. “You two stay inside now. I do my best, but parking lots aren’t safe after dark.”

“Yes sir,” Sammy chirped, all faux-innocence and big eyes. Dean just glowered at Gabriel, too old, too wise to the ways of the dark to be cowed by a short security guard and his flashlight.

The hunter was eyeing Gabriel suspiciously, but Gabriel kept his own innocent smile on his face as he led the puppet away, scolding him lightly as he left earshot, just for the look of things.

Once around the corner, Gabriel dispelled the puppet with a snap of his fingers and unfurled his wings. The next moment, he was in his own home, and Thorn came waddling over to greet him.

“Hey boy,” Gabriel said, rubbing the dog’s ears distractedly. “You hungry? I could use something sweet.”

Forty minutes and three desserts later, Gabriel was sprawled across his leather couch, Thorn nestled against the curve of his belly and whuffing soft, contented sighs across Gabriel’s sticky fingers every so often. For being over three hundred years old, the dog was holding up remarkably well.

Gabriel picked up the handset of his telephone and set it back down again, debating whether or not to actually disturb Jane. It wasn’t _that_ important. Only the Apocalypse.

The Apocalypse would come hand-in-hand with angels. Hundreds of angels, thousands of angels. _Archangels_. All of Gabriel’s brothers would be descending to Earth for the first time since… since Jesus, really, searching out the six hundred seals and trying to protect them all.

He’d call.

Jane answered on the third ring, her voice bright and cheerful despite being nearly two thousand miles away. “Hello, this is Jane! May I ask who’s calling?”

“Miss me, Angel?” Gabriel asked, settling back against his couch. “Have some time to chat?”

“Papa!” Jane laughed down the line. Gabriel could hear her moving around in her apartment. “Yes, I have an hour or so before I have to leave for my shift. What’s up?”

“Am I not allowed to call up my favorite daughter just for a chat?” Gabriel asked, pressing his hand to his chest in mock offense.

“You are, but that was the excuse you used last week. Try something new this time?”

“I actually did have a reason,” Gabriel sighed. “You know me too well.”

“I knew it.” Jane’s smile filled her words. If Gabriel closed his eyes, he could picture her face. “You’re lonely again, right?”

“I’ll have you know, I had an absolutely rad party here last night. Place was full to bursting. Didn’t get any sleep at all.”

“All puppets?” Jane teased.

“Yeah,” Gabriel admitted with a little chuckle. “All puppets. But that’s not actually what I wanted to talk about.”

“Oh? Something actually serious?” Jane was messing with dishes now, running water. Washing them? “Spill.”

“Jane…” Gabriel bit his lip, hesitating. Once he told her, he would make it official. He didn’t want to.

“Something _actually_ serious?” Jane shut off the water and set the dishes down. “Okay, Papa. I’m sitting down. What is it?”

“You remember the stories I’d tell you about the Apocalypse?” Gabriel sat up himself, pulling Thorn into his lap. “How my brothers would walk the Earth again?”

“Don’t tell me that this is how the Apocalypse starts, with a beautiful sunny day.”

“It starts with two brothers,” Gabriel said. “Two brothers, born to the bloodlines of Michael and Lucifer. Each a true vessel for only one of the Archangels.”

“But the Cherubim keep the bloodlines separate,” Jane said. “That’s what you told me. The Cherubim made sure Michael’s bloodline and Lucifer’s bloodline never met, so that these brothers would never be born.”

“That’s what I thought. That’s how things _were_. But my information is a thousand years out of date, Jane… and I saw the brothers today.”

Jane was silent, and Gabriel pressed his thumb and fingers against his closed eyes. “Their names are Dean and Sammy. Their father is a hunter, and they are already… they _are_ my brothers, Jane. Michael’s protectiveness in Dean, Sammael’s curiosity in Sammy… I felt like a fledgling again myself. These two are the real deal.”

“Has the Apocalypse started, then? Is this the end of the world?”

“Not yet,” Gabriel said. “Not officially. Neither Dean nor Sammy have any angelic residue on their souls. They haven’t been contacted yet, but I’m sure they’re being watched. The Apocalypse is going to happen in their lifetime. We have… I’d say less than sixty years.”

“What does this mean for us?” Jane asked quietly. “How bad is the Apocalypse going to be for us?”

“Depends on who wins.” Gabriel tipped his head back against the sofa. “Whatever happens, though, I’m going to keep you alive. No matter the cost.”

“Papa…”

“No, Jane. You survive this Apocalypse. Period. That means we have to keep the angels from noticing you. When the Apocalypse starts, _really_ starts, they’re going to come down by the thousands. You’ll be able to recognize their halos. Stay away from anyone housing an angel. Keep your distance; keep your guard up. Don’t ever antagonize them, don’t ever give any indication that you know what they are. None of the seals involve Nephilim, so hopefully, they’ll be too distracted to notice anything amiss.”

“What about you?” Jane asked. “What will you be doing?”

“I’ll try to keep my head low,” Gabriel explained. “Metatron didn’t recognize me as an angel, so maybe they won’t either. I won’t use my grace at all, and I won’t…” Gabriel broke off, taking a deep breath. “I won’t contact you. Ever.”

“Radio silence from here on out?” Jane asked quietly.

“They _cannot_ connect us. Until the Apocalypse is over, I don’t have a daughter.”

Jane was silent again, and Gabriel focused on her breathing, trying to memorize the sound over the telephone wires. “I love you, Jane,” he whispered. “I will make sure you survive this Apocalypse.”

“You survive too, Papa,” Jane whispered back. “I love you too. Don’t make me lose you.”

Saying good-bye to Jane was the hardest thing Gabriel had ever had to do, harder even than what he did to Cariel all those years ago. With Cariel, at least, Gabriel knew exactly what would happen next, and he knew that his actions were the most merciful thing the fallen angel could hope for. With Jane, with this Apocalypse, everything was uncertain and unknown. The angels were coming back to Earth. Michael and Lucifer would rekindle their ancient battle. The world would suffer. And through it all, Gabriel would have to give everything to make sure one lone Nephilim survived.

“Easy-peasy,” he whispered to Thorn. The dog wagged his tail in agreement. “Piece of cake. We can do this.”

_We are so screwed._


End file.
